On Grief

I listen to the sweet lilting of a Persian poem, perched softly on my bed. It has been a long day. The sun came out in all her summer glory and then the clouds gathered and had their say. It rained a while. Then the breeze picked up, wrecking havoc with my hair and going deep into parts of me I barely remember. A day, I muse, is a metaphor for an entire life. There is a dawn and a dusk, and a span of time in between. And then there is sleep. Continue reading