It always seems to happen this way.

It always seem to happen that when part of home leaves, when a piece of your heart is called to go:
You discover a new pianist
You dance from the soul, dictated movement from your Maker.
You happen to make the most perfect cup of coffee you've ever had.
You have lots to do but your muscles are aching to do something anyway.
Your mind is the clearest it's been in a while (you can't really remember
exactly how long because all the in-between time your mind was, well…not entirely clear.)


Beauty woke up. To a deeper degree than I've ever known it here.


(it might be called experience. The first "waiting" since really living here. It's not loss, it's just not instant gratification. It's the first directly personal ache. It's complete. It is beauty.)