Liberat.es
Grow, Grow — #NaPoWriMo Day 28
The rabbis say angels whisper to
each blade of grass — grow, grow.
Imagine what that says of us.
Who whispers in the ears of kings?
Of jesters? Of the ones mastering
their trade? What are the sounds of
light as it rounds the corners of a
life? When does one learn it is time to let go? One thought, turned
toward, and question upon question
is piled. A dialogue opens — one life
answers another. We’re defined by
the moments we hear the
whispering in ours, and defined by
the times we turn away. The rabbis
say angels whisper to each blade
of grass — grow, grow. What,
perhaps, is grass at all, but us?