We stare at the lines, divided, you and I stark and misguided, worn dull by day’s exhausted breath we move on by hope of certain rest; by day and by step, with faith our bequest and by trust, and what it will cost us.
Lilac leaves are the surest sign that spring has stopped teasing. Although the flowers rarely last more than a week here, the leaves possess their own silky beauty. I’ve photographed them many times over the years, and they always draw me back for more.
The beauty of age and its swift fade.
The bridge of each moment, still. Glass fragments of breath, of dance, of rest. The silence of fingertips and brief kisses, the warmth of mercy, a peaceable light. The moment, now, and the next begins.