I wish I could fly like that hawk, rising and falling with the still spaces in the air, far above all this sickness and death and evil.
If we are to survive, I must start and end my war this same day.
I am happy to be alone. Perhaps this is true. Or perhaps I am the biggest coward of all.
My dear husband Thomas has informed me that I can’t walk without natural hip action. The more I slow to adjust my walk, the more my hips determine to swing of their own accord.
I’m not surprised he wants to challenge me here, where no one can protect me. He thinks I’m a weak woman. He thinks wrong.
Some are born to love, and some to fight. How can I ever succeed at both?
What I did cannot be forgiven, any more than it could have been avoided.
There are times when the evil seems so impenetrable, the wickedness so victorious, you don’t even know how to hope. But then the good news bursts in, as impossible to deny as it is to believe.
Something’s still wrong–the same thing that was wrong forty years ago. A malignancy, a tumor, slowly growing in someone’s heart. A conscience that’s seared.
Responsibilities fall heaviest on those willing to take the load.
Judgment doesn’t always fall on the unjust in this life. Sometimes you have to make your own way out.
When he leaned in to kiss me, the future swirled before me, bright as sunlight on creek water.