I am crumpled up on my kitchen floor, head in hands, hiding beneath a soundtrack of Fernando Ortega and Bifrost Arts, hoping my kids don’t notice I am weeping, It’s holy ground, but it feels like falling apart.
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All articles filed in Holy Ground
Well Look At You
There is a magical hour, when darkness lingers and daylight is yet an illusion. It is in this hour of endless night when babies like to be born.
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