Beautiful Seasons
In talking to these old friends, I found myself saying more than once – my god, that was a beautiful season. What times we had. Not all good, of course, but on balance the beauty is the thing that shone through. The light glinting off the waves of the river, not the murkiness of the water beneath.
Aloft and Ahead
Time is different in the air, also more expansive. It must be something about my body being close to the clouds, about being suspended and propelled at the same time.
Be Carried, My Dear
There are so many times when I would like to be carried. When I would like to stare as though I was a child, be loose and give myself over to being moved.