We are tethered to the story we must tell.  Whether we let it out or keep it sequestered – whether we spill it over our lives in obvious ways or drip it lightly in the coy unaware of unintentional act….       we are what we breathe.

Repose

Oversized chairs   Stone-bulked fireplaceDarkened walls trimmed in rich wood.    Walls hidden behind scores of books. I see a library, a study, that is called mine. Where I enter and become rhythm. A harmony gliding into an existed melody. The melody stays constant, though the harmony alters from time to time. Still fitting, somehow, into …