The last of the lavender, and a few roses from our garden.
Those delicate petals, just like that, perfection.
Softness.
Letting the petals be.
A handwritten poetry book composed in beautiful script.
1893
When I opened it, I could not believe my eyes. How did something this sweet, with over fifty pages become discarded?
Every day make life poetic.
"For a friend"
I want to write my last name with an A like that.
Take it slow, being and doing with meaning, awareness, gratitude…
A happiness resides in being present to the moment.
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