Sometimes, I feel like the battered wife, always coming home for more, but I have the role wrong. I should not identify with the one being battered, I should identify with the batterer. How many times I have questioned fate, and blamed God for the present and past.; decisions I made, yet wanted to distance myself from.
Much like Maya Angelou, I never met a day like today. The day had not begun when I walked to the garage. I entered a yard of darkness. The sky above was so clear and black with its stars so sharp and plentiful that it appeared to be randomly pierced by a dart that invited narrow streams of light to emerge, all of which were superseded by the size and splendor of the sensational half-moon, whose white light just bathed me as I walked out to the garage. I stood in awe of its beauty. I stood grateful for the moment and the presence of mind to welcome yesterday’s ending and today’s beginning.