There is more to a word than the spelling, neither future nor past in its tense, and the story that grows in the telling can jump over a pastoral fence on the drive coming home. It’s compelling in a deeper than physical sense.
When I think of the love that enfolds me in the leap of a frolicsome pup and the arms of a husband who holds me like an obelisk propping me up, there’s a presence that softens and molds me to the shape of serenity’s cup.
From a window, the woodland is sounding with the hush of an orderly mind. In a natural rustic surrounding there is space for the nerves to unwind from the noise of a world that is pounding the humanity out of mankind.
So the run-of-the-mill intersection on the way to our humble abode masquerades our affluent connection to a heavenly area code as it leads to supernal perfection living large at a bend in the road.
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