cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
It’s 3 a.m., and I’m wide awake, tossing and turning like it’s my own signature dance move, all to the tune of grief and fear. Back and forth I spin on the deep gray sheets that prove there is no thread count that can stop my midnight moves. That tune is just too loud. The…
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Angst, religion, the entire system. Last week a friend adding something challenge to that system. My anger and rage; God knows me by name. Surges of words rush forth, and lips smack them back.
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His name is who? Mine yours and ours mistaken toil stone still Yet He rolls on Dusky skin basking against roads of red silence.
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Growing up is hard.
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