I live like honey stirred into tea, the warm sweetness swallowed, leaving a sticky puddle to cling to the bottom of my mug. I drag a finger through it, the only writing done in days.
I live like honey stirred into tea, the warm sweetness swallowed, leaving a sticky puddle to cling to the bottom of my mug. I drag a finger through it, the only writing done in days.
And you rest in January… sounds like some fine self-care, to me.
And it is rich and enough.
PS I really like this photograph. The light, colors, texture, depth.
Beth, I had a feeling you’d understand.
Denise, somehow you’ve made the neglect of a habit sound acceptable. Thank you.
At least honey writing is sweet writing…
I’ve tagged you to blog about your next BIG thing at http://www.remainsofday.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-next-big-thing.html if you want to play along.