The morning voices linger linger linger long, and I pray for them to dissipate, anticipating final words that crack in the shadows.
Where is the light at the end of the tunnel?
Instead of my meander on a pathway of laughter and song, there is this other throng, yelps of accusations that threaten to implode upon each other as they create distance.
In this instance I need silence. And so I remember the scent of burning sage that bathes my weary ears and eyes.
No more rage.