Just one more...
Here. What moves through. How it cuts, erases, changes, even embellishes. How it is also contained. By both inside and outside,like a dream. I suppose "home" is the thing that stands, has been standing here in so many posts. Home is a place but also a sense of place. Maybe even the sense of ownership of space that home provides. I'm thinking so fluidly this morning. It all seems just a sense of something. How my sense of so many things has changed.
You know, how you know it's over even before it's over. Which is really just going. Continuing. With a sense of something. And how long it takes is not important. It's not emotional, it is how it is. From your perspective.
I will work on Mo's pennant now. Although I do like it like this. It's ghostly form. Maybe love is simply a sense of something.
It rained all night. Gently. Eventually it stopped.
Eventually the sun will come out.
