No more celebrating death, no more dancing on graves. Only plants make sense. And the warm black cat. And my husband's eyes upon me. And the thought of my parents. And some meals. And the fig fruit to come. And books. And friends arriving from long ago and far away. And running water. And coffee. And sunlight. And rain.
Yes, after the hysteria only love makes sense.
ReplyDeleteAnd a greatful heart.
ReplyDeleteamen.
ReplyDeleteperfect.
ReplyDelete