 | | 12/11/2015 15:54
Sur le blog Amy Nelson
Good morning milkmaid braid
Today, I write from a corner in the house where instruments wait to make music and books of pressed flowers wait to be gazed upon. I look around to see an autoharp surrounded by random papers of white and a coffee cup filling the air with good morning tidings. It's almost as if the world is saying "No matter how bad the day gets, you had your morning air and it was beautiful." I need my mornings to be like this: Quiet like the falling of snow on a hillside, slow like maple syrup dripping onto a stack of pancakes, and gentle like the hour after you were born when your mother holds onto you and believes she is holding the world. As the day goes on, I...
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