"My hands were warm and I placed them on the car window to feel the coolness outside of it. I looked up and saw the crescent moon through the foggy print of my plam. Tonight I am reminded of that song from American Tale. There is nowhere we can travel and escape that blessed moon."
Another end, another beginning. Did someone once say that living is circular? That we can never really reach any ending point, if indeed we are defining ending as a stopping. This feel of change does take a bit of my breath to adjust to. How odd, how strange, weird and terribly exciting!