Been enjoying oodles of pasta, and experimenting with teas. Haven’t found the perfect tea for pasta yet. but I will. Any suggestions?
This gift of life is mysterious. When the spectre of death hangs over our life, it can be hard to move out of the shadows of lives long gone, but forever etched on our hearts. And some days it can feel like that spectre is hunting us down, bent on suffocating us with its heaviness, trying to choke the life out of us. And while we’re busy clutching at those tiny strands of life, it seems more storm clouds gather on the horizon unexpectedly and we feel like we’re losing grasp. As the last leaf falls from the tree, the last light of day disappears, and the final breath is carried away on the evening mist, our hearts cry out for hope. Any tiny flicker of light on the horizon to quell the rising darkness. And we breath. We wait. We fight. Morning comes with a light that blinds us through the tears gleaming on our cheeks. Shadows are vanquished, our bloodied hands lay down their tools of battle. We breath deep of that mysterious life being rekindled. Somewhere, somehow our hearts beat again.