Grief is a river that now runs through my life. Sometimes it is slow and steady, passing gently over rocks of remembrance, pooling up in beautiful, idyllic scenes where the late afternoon sun brushes through the trees and paints the waters and the riverbank in bright splashes of quivering light. The aching beauty of having…
Tag: river
Living Conversation
I love words. They are not perfect, because they aren’t really the things themselves: the word “chicken” is not a chicken, it is just some scribbled lines on paper. The word “angry” is not an emotion, it is just a symbol for the feeling. The word “fragrant” is not the actual smell of gardenias, it…