.
When the veil lifts
we see the bones
of the universe
and it doesn’t matter
the color of an eye,
an unread poem,
a broken thread,
the forgotten name.
.
And everything matters –
the curve of a smile,
a loaf of bread shared,
the feather of a crow,
each dandelion spared.
What matters is the fingerprint
we leave on the flame
before we’re dowsed with slumber
and it all begins again.
.
(c) 2004, 2017 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(a re-post)
.
Seasonings 
I really enjoy that image of the fingerprint on the flame, it seems to capture how everything and nothing matters, sometimes, at the same time. I will remember that image.
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Anna, I’m so glad you like that image. There does seem to be that paradox when it comes to “mattering”. Hard to capture.
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Reblogged this on Ben Naga and commented:
Too good not to share and propagate.
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Thank you for the reblog and for the kind words, Ben. 🙂
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My pleasure, Betty.
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