Perhaps we learn best from words in this book made of air, receiving its freshness a little at a time, our thoughts scattering the sand of its phrases through our fingers in a flood of ink and wind.
Or maybe, like the wandering dog that finds a happy balance between the warm spring sun and the longest hair on its tail, wisdom comes from simple attention to the simple, humble attention to humble things, and living attention to all that lives.
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Woke thinking of you today, writing. I bet Liz is writing.
ReplyDeleteAnd you are. I love how each of your posts is like a miniature, delicate gift box--blessedly open in the center, then as you read, it wraps itself shut, the bow ties, and ends of ribbon spiral through the scissors. And then, of course, one has to start at the top...and read it again...and witness that lovely assembly...all over again...
Thank you Tania for reading my writing into being. There are so many obstacles to writing these days, and I always look forward to your encouraging words.
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