A seriously impromptu trip to London with my sister found
me wandering the streets of Hampstead by myself in the rain. I was
feeling low and was getting my spirit back through long walks in
and around old haunts. Slowly, my younger, wilder self, my
independent spirit was all coming back. I was surrounded by
beautiful homes and cute shops that anyone would want to
own. I was breathing clearly in the misty air. Walking
slowly near Keat's house, I found this wall. Reaching
out, I touched the softest greenest most delicate moss in the
world. I could feel the rough moist bricks beneath, bricks that had
been there for a hundred years. I felt my whole self returning.
This is what moments like this do.
**What's a moment without a name, you ask? It's moment
where your heart sings, your senses are ignited, you can see, feel,
hear, things that are sacrd to you. They come from any of those
textural moments in a life, be it surrounded by wooly coziness in
front of a fire or the heat of the sun on your face. Join me
as I celebrate these moments and textures in our lives, they
don't last long.**