Can we find a place we can call home, now, after all that has fallen around us? Autumn leaves of lives lost and left on the ground, forgotten and buried under the heaping snow of our long winter of forgetfulness.
How can we hold and turn these shapes to find that one sparking moment of crystal knowing, when the world turns its own shadows upon themselves and they disappear into cold clarity of understanding?
I only have these questions, heaping like small change in the palm of my open hand, ready for you to take one and spend it wisely in the bustling markets of knowing.
You are a daughter of this world I never really got to know. You can speak its languages while I just shrug in bewilderment, never knowing the answer or how the question can be shaped into something tangible.
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