The grocer is like heaven, everyone exalts it, but no one wants to go there now.
I do know that many of those who are driven to this used car lot are desperately searching for those pockets of silence where we can drive and grow.
To begin, there are four Powers: Liquid and powder, dryer and air.
Be steadfast and remember always that we need much less than we think we need.
All you have to do is have one true hiding place. Find the truest hiding place you know.
Take a breath and listen to the brag of the dust mites—I am, I am, I am. But you want them to be not.
The journey begins in 465 of the First Age, before the birth of Tuor, son of Huor, with three methods, given to the lords of the brush.
Attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom in the sink basin.
Every blade of grass has a statue inside it, a David or a Pieta or even a Bacchus, and it is the task of the mower to discover it.
I could easily forgive the pride of a gas or electric griller, if it had not mortified mine own.
Pull taut to create a vibrato of codependence, but not so taut that you further dislodge that which has already been established in the corners.
Consider humming a lullaby as you rock yourself, as your grandmother used to do before her untimely passing. Bah humbug on mortality, I say.