There are layers weaving through me: cascading waters, singing birds, quaking leaves. I am all these things. Yet, at the end of day and night, I will leave my self and be still.
There are layers
Originally published: Jul 2004
Originally published: Jul 2004
There are layers weaving through me: cascading waters, singing birds, quaking leaves. I am all these things. Yet, at the end of day and night, I will leave my self and be still.