I’ve encountered many books that I could not possibly part with; like strangers on the streets with gleaming eyes that reflect interesting and untold stories, a curiosity begs you to discover and explore those stories you are supposed to be a part of.
We speak of the beauty of leaves as they are dying, yet we don’t speak of their death. There is nothing to mourn because leaves are not afraid of dying. They fall, they feed the soil and new leaves always come in the spring. It’s like a big chemical reaction. How does this concept apply to the seemingly insignificant in your life?