It’s a moment, that’s all. A gathering of spinach and chard and onion for an evening omelet. I turn the bag upside down, empty the red, yellow, and green, my kitchen sink a vase, our dinner a glorious bouquet, and I want to stop time. It moves too fast, and who can hold this beauty forever? It slips away.
But does it really?
Today I posted about altars in the soul at The Master’s Artist. I hope you’ll tiptoe over and join me at the kneeling rail.
