Murmur Lee Harp

Here, the wind is visible. I watch it with the eyes of the newly born: curious, delighted, free of the yoke of judgment. It swirls and billows. Light threads its way through the wind’s shifting gray tones, weaving images. I have no form, no corporeality, yet I am here: a spirit watching the film of my life, my family’s life. The images waft all about and I feel my soul’s aperture open wider and wider. The light fills me. The wind fills me. The past—which was life—fills me.