Every face a story. Every soul a journey. Every road a memory. Every sigh a long lost tear.
Every blessed church a chronicle. Every subway station a conflict of plots and motivations and characters.
Every sunrise a tomorrow. Every ocean wave a dream. Every kiss a promise. Every silver moon a hope. Every breath a preparation.
As I walk this sometimes lonely path of life, my soul knows it is for more than naught. Every day a paragraph, and every year a chapter. To live is to write a book, or rather to be written in. Oh Lord, won’t you be in my book? Or let our books be one.
Coal sketch by my talented brother, Nathan Clarkson. Check out his blog here: nathanjclarkson.wordpress.com