Monday, October 14, 2013
This is a portion of a letter to my brother:
The gardens are preparing for sleep. We ate breakfast on the porch watching the leaves of the nearest tree tumble to the ground. Gold finches visit the sunflowers heavy with seed.
We push through another season. Time a blur akin to racing for the next connection, rushing on the airline's mechanical walk-way. Everything a blur in our frantic pace.
Slowed down the joy of contentment and gratitude seep into every atom. Each moment deserves attention.
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