* * *
The moon fattens. It is tenderness, the soft old song of the night. I wish I could climb into the sky, using clouds and stars for footholds, to dip myself in white light.
* * *
The day hushed slow away. And the sky, bruised and wild like a survivor of the sun, came utterly undone. Chloe sat in her garden, watching, waiting. Her lap was full of odd things. Words, broken flowers, sighs, memories of smiles caught in a sidelong eye.
There have been times when I've worried about the smallness and quietness, because writing-everyday and being-busy is advised and celebrated. But the truth is, it's really lovely to go in a small way, a quiet gentle way, when time allows and joy inspires.
I hope your day is a lovely one, and that you are feeling lovely too within yourself.