brown wooden armchair on brown wooden floor


Enough now.
Enough of the stops, don’ts, doubts, blank stares at empty pages.
The Death card has turned up for ego –
so small yet so loud – a sparrow’s cry in a canyon echoing – an illusion of bigness.
Peace doesn’t live in illusion.
Peace is where ink finds paper, and Voice forms the white spotlight on a stage walked by masters and fools alike.
And it welcomes you.



About Christine Wilcox Anderson

Writer, former corporate communications exec, and perpetual student of life on this rock.
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