Reflections

June 9, 2015

There is a rhythm to how we learn who we are. It begins long before we have words, in the soft repetition...

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June 9, 2015

I found an old string of beads in the back of my junk drawer this morning, tangled up with a spare key...

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June 8, 2015

I remember sitting in a courtyard in Fez, watching the way the light retreated from the stone walls as the evening call...

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