Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Sitting with stone angels. It's the funeral hour of a co-patient-friend. How to say goodbye? How to deal with all those open-ended life questions? I pick flowers, place them into a mandala. Yellow and white, grief and tears and fear. The island wind ebbs, then picks up again, plays with the petals. Then the sun comes out for a moment of shining goodbye.

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