I think breakfast is sacred.
Even if you just stand
to watch the tea kettle boil.
Sunlit mornings and creaky steps
with oversized blankets
and soggy eyes
welcome another try at life.
It's dusty and quiet–
just a soul trying to wake up
and a cup of tea.
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I was walking down the street in New York City one day, when I heard a woman's voice saying, "I was very sick all winter." Intrigued, I turned around and saw the woman handing a street person, sitting on the sidewalk, some money. She went on talking to him. "I had pneumonia, and every time I started to get better, I'd have a relapse. Now I am finally really getting better, and I just wanted to share the joy."