I don’t drink at all, but I’ve heard of people who save really good bottles for no other reason than they are really good bottles. They leave them on a shelf and drink them little by little; savoring. That’s how it was with this River Story. I’d edit one image and then close my computer. […]
She whispered into the tops of their heads, brushing the hair out of their faces with her fingertips. “Tomo mi mano,” she sang, as they walked out into the sacred waters together. I didn’t look it up to translate. I didn’t have to. The act of being held, of holding, is universal.
Mysteries are not to be solved: The eye goes blind when it only wants to see why. -Rumi
Sometimes it’s not about finding beauty in paradise. Sometimes, you find yourself in the middle of murky, uncharted waters, and it’s here, where the truest beauty (often in the form of brilliant courage) arrives. Jessie taught me that tonight. And with mud-stained-feet, I am so grateful.
