Simplicities. Like sunlight through an amber honey jar. A warm glow. Remembering then that it should be raw and local, for reasons that have something to do with health and allergies and the value of small business. Wondering then about honey bees, and trying to call to mind just how endangered they really are. And suddenly simplicity is buried and there’s shame at the original desire to put something sweet on your breakfast cereal anyway.
Love, gratitude and celebration get lost in this mire over and over again. It’s difficult to relish the latte I ordered when I find my hands wringing at the thought of how late this cafe pit stop is making me for work.
But pointing to potential is a cause I want to pick up again. I want to anchor my days with intentionality. Reclaiming them from that worried, hurried, half life. So here it goes.