“I look at the stories. So many stories poring between my fingers. Each expressing its transient becoming and being and quiet dissolution, netted and knotted with others while time stops in the oneness, expanding and contracting with each connected breath.”
Excerpt from “The Language of Beauty” from Moon Full of Moons.
During these summer days at the beach, I think about these lines while the sand pours through my fingers.
The sand is stories.
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