Tossing a fishing net, I attempt to catch that shade of rose in early summer that tries to explain the sky.
Every morning I go to the broken seams of earth with seeds for wild, for flowers.
Be so much as to be so much more.
In the envelope was a star. . .to steer by.
The questions that lead to questions are the wings that lead to flight.
In order to write, one needs a sea of one’s own.
Let night make of it: love. Let daylight make of it: friendship.
…and I took the star less traveled.
Skip trying. Go straight to succeeding.
The universe is stuffed with moons, stars and some days, just vanilla cream-filling if you don’t eat the hard cookie parts.