December 2, 2013

Soft As A Whsiper



 
Somewhere a train passes by, the wind dances on the mountain, and somewhere someone finds contentment is not booms and fireworks in the night, but is as soft as a whisper coming down on the shoulders of a snowflake. The obvious is not always so obvious. It is the small pebble we do not see that finds its way into our sandals, not the large boulder we must scale to continue on our path.

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