It’s a funny thing to leave home; to find an entirely new one in the process. Unearthing the layers of home, both physical and spiritual.
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terroir
This–to me–smells like Margaret River, she says while pouring the cabernet. Like home. She rolls her eyes as she talks about terroir, but readily admits Margaret River’s got one all its own.
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coffee at no. 7
Come over tomorrow morning before you leave and I’ll make you Greek coffee, she offers again. The way she rolls her “r”s reminds me of Spanish. This time I know I’ll take her up on it.
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song of the builders
May it always be like this: each of us going on in our inexplicable ways, building the universe.
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honoring the light in you
It’s the last few weeks of yoga classes in Melbourne before we’re off, and I’ve been thinking about what yoga’s meant to me. As a student. As a teacher. How do you explain something that can only be felt?
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Q U E R E N C I A • 