Moments in Seventy Years, Heart, Heart, Unswell

Love is not fate, nor some duration of frivolous months or years. It is molecules flung wide, astral breaches that birth light and our knowing. We see an owl in a lone cypress, its tonal voice like air in a ventilator, a soft whoosh of meaning and yet melodic as a string of warm, summer … Continue reading Moments in Seventy Years, Heart, Heart, Unswell

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