This garden we fill with seeds pushing radishes and peas into fresh brown earth These books we replace on the brimming shelves. These tomatoes we slice and throw into salad bowls This table with cloth straightened and vase of lavender lilacs tenderly picked by small hands This postcard addressed to a far away brother and the clouds flowing across the top of the horizon. This morning's cup of steaming tea and the dog that is begging for a walk and attention. These days that roll on in the same slightly different manner of the ones before.
How awful it would be if one hated the ordinary days and thought their lives would start only when something "interesting" happened! I'd hate to skim across the surface of my life, missing all the depths in which we dance.
These days that roll on
in the same slightly different
manner of the ones before.
How awful it would be if one hated the ordinary days and thought their lives would start only when something "interesting" happened! I'd hate to skim across the surface of my life, missing all the depths in which we dance.