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~ The Blanket Weaver ~
On a bone chilling three-dog night in a wonderful three-dollar a night room, I found peace in Sapa, a remote village in the north of Vietnam set at the foot of the country's highest peak. Arriving late afternoon, gazing out across the valley through my window, I sat falling into the scene laid before me. There, perched on top of the clouds, was majestic Mount Fansipan. Clouds rolled up and over her with the ease of Sunday. A crisp, clean gust bit me through the window seal causing retreat, where I huddled next to the fire and sought comfort in that evening’s bowl. Nothing lay to waste as I used broken bread to insure I got to all of the hard to reach spots in the corners of the bowl. I then laid back and let warmth envelop me. There is always something comforting about a warm fire; the way the flames flirt with one another seems like an ancient act of love. As I stared into the celebration that was taking place in the hearth and as dusk slowly began giving way to shadow, my eyelids became burdensome and I found myself nestled in a blanket made by the hands of a woman who slept near.
On a bone chilling three-dog night in a wonderful three-dollar a night room, I found peace in Sapa, a remote village in the north of Vietnam set at the foot of the country's highest peak. Arriving late afternoon, gazing out across the valley through my window, I sat falling into the scene laid before me. There, perched on top of the clouds, was majestic Mount Fansipan. Clouds rolled up and over her with the ease of Sunday. A crisp, clean gust bit me through the window seal causing retreat, where I huddled next to the fire and sought comfort in that evening’s bowl. Nothing lay to waste as I used broken bread to insure I got to all of the hard to reach spots in the corners of the bowl. I then laid back and let warmth envelop me. There is always something comforting about a warm fire; the way the flames flirt with one another seems like an ancient act of love. As I stared into the celebration that was taking place in the hearth and as dusk slowly began giving way to shadow, my eyelids became burdensome and I found myself nestled in a blanket made by the hands of a woman who slept near.
~ The Blanket Weaver ~
On a bone chilling three-dog night in a wonderful three-dollar a night room, I found peace in Sapa, a remote village in the north of Vietnam set at the foot of the country's highest peak. Arriving late afternoon, gazing out across the valley through my window, I sat falling into the scene laid before me. There, perched on top of the clouds, was majestic Mount Fansipan. Clouds rolled up and over her with the ease of Sunday. A crisp, clean gust bit me through the window seal causing retreat, where I huddled next to the fire and sought comfort in that evening’s bowl. Nothing lay to waste as I used broken bread to insure I got to all of the hard to reach spots in the corners of the bowl. I then laid back and let warmth envelop me. There is always something comforting about a warm fire; the way the flames flirt with one another seems like an ancient act of love. As I stared into the celebration that was taking place in the hearth and as dusk slowly began giving way to shadow, my eyelids became burdensome and I found myself nestled in a blanket made by the hands of a woman who slept near.
On a bone chilling three-dog night in a wonderful three-dollar a night room, I found peace in Sapa, a remote village in the north of Vietnam set at the foot of the country's highest peak. Arriving late afternoon, gazing out across the valley through my window, I sat falling into the scene laid before me. There, perched on top of the clouds, was majestic Mount Fansipan. Clouds rolled up and over her with the ease of Sunday. A crisp, clean gust bit me through the window seal causing retreat, where I huddled next to the fire and sought comfort in that evening’s bowl. Nothing lay to waste as I used broken bread to insure I got to all of the hard to reach spots in the corners of the bowl. I then laid back and let warmth envelop me. There is always something comforting about a warm fire; the way the flames flirt with one another seems like an ancient act of love. As I stared into the celebration that was taking place in the hearth and as dusk slowly began giving way to shadow, my eyelids became burdensome and I found myself nestled in a blanket made by the hands of a woman who slept near.
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