The lowest of the lows. Under.
The majesty of being lower.
The room for better than.
The best self you can be or aspire to be.
Growing up in a place where concrete became my friend. Grass was plentiful in other people’s lawn. But I didn’t long for their lawn. I learned to love mine.
I had a lawn with grass and it had it’s issues as well.
I started to love that concrete the day I realized the beauty it brought in the rain. The water beaded up on top of it as it remanded hard. Even though the water was soft and refreshing.
I find something poetic about embracing differences. The harmonies of love and like. The gentle breeze on an extremely hot day.
The way the wind blows cold and all you need is heat in that moment.
The lowest of the lows become balanced with the highest of the highs if your searching for peace.
Have a amazing Wednesday and an awing tomorrow.
C. L Cunningham