Growing up I loved swings. As my daughter does now. I loved to close my eyes and feel my stomach rise up into my chest, that nauseating, wonderful feeling. How I imagined flying to feel like. Now I only feel nauseated, but the enjoyment I get from watching and listening to my daughter be completely at one with the swing is better than anything.
Above the rooftops of Paris there is a little house…
Yesterday I was in a church, sitting with my eyes closed. I could hear my breath, the sound of the market outside, the door opening and footsteps. All of a sudden the clear and beautiful voice of a man singing. Then he left.
Lines on my hands get deeper, I haven’t changed.
Thoughts come and go, a story I live by.
I stop, and let go.