Grains
Grains Like basmati rice spilled on the counter, little truths everywhere I sweep them up and into my pocket, tiny wayfinding tools for a tangled world When help is needed, I run my fingers through the grains One for this moment settles in my hand and reveals, Today, your reminder forbearance The task, my practice to apply
OH, this one is a treasure! Thank you, beautiful! Can I post on my facebook page? Love, Pen
Wayfinding tools indeed. When I spoke at my father's, then mother's funerals, I held a rock in my pocket. I had picked it up on the edge of the lake. Round and smooth it grounded me, gave me perspective, I suppose.