These are the beautiful mornings, the frost and fog clad in icy gray so the warmth within must emerge with fortitude; biting chill on cheeks, fire in the belly as they say.
These are the beautiful mornings, the frost and fog clad in icy gray so the warmth within must emerge with fortitude; biting chill on cheeks, fire in the belly as they say.
Field Notes on Faith and the First World
Exploring depths previously unsounded in oneself, as best one may.
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Supporting ways of being that are life-giving and sustainable for people, communities and the planet.
Believes everyone has a story to tell.
James Scott Smith 