The hot windy days are the perfect time for the guys at the base to blow shit up. It's like they sit around and wait for those perfect conditions to also create a fire.
When we talk about where we want to live next I dream of living where I won't hear men and women blowing shit up in preparation for war. I am just done with it. Every blast sounds like textbooks and teachers' salaries to me. Full bellies for little innocents born into families experiencing tough times....add your favorite item here_____________.
Ewww...cranky are we?
I attended a class about Hinduism last night. A teeny tiny thumbnail of something so rich and deep that I felt teased. Go further Laura. Investigate.
And yet...I really would rather go inside and investigate. What is making me tick now?
Now that I have to grow up without hugging Sam and staring into his beautiful eyes. Now that I have to find other ways to communicate with him and see him.
His presence and absence meld into one majestic symphony.
Missing him. Wearing his plaid shirt helps. As if it really could.
Sending love....receiving love...sending love