On the road to tomorrow, baby goats sleep.
A blessing for the acceptance of an ending.
I want to enter this year with the confidence of baby goats who sleep on whatever part of the road their rope lets them reach. They want the warmth and the sun and nothing in the way. Heads on their bellies – thick, hairy, sweet – they sleep. They don’t mind the rubber wheels that thunder past them.
Yesterday someone said,…
