I’m here in my own bed after spending the weekend away, hungry to return to the ordinary.

A symphony welcomes the day. The orchestra: a hummingbird buzzing at the feeder outside the open door; the distant sound from the valley of Monday morning start-up; the soft percussion of my husband’s sleeping breath.

If we’re not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?

Gregory Orr

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here most mornings with a photo and a few words about ordinary extraordinary things and, sometimes, thin places where faith intersects.
1 comment
  1. Your post echoes the strains of chamber music we heard on Sunday: strings and piano, percussive.

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