Still, Small

I think of quiet.

The world’s cacophony assaults and I hunger for silence, I bathe in solitude at every opportunity.

I make space for these.

One morning when I am not thinking of quiet, I am distracted by a different stillness.

I look up and listen.

For surely I will hear a whisper in this thin place.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things.

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