I stumble my awkward way, I accidentally step on an ant. Small be it as it may, For her the event still is grand.   God forbid me stepping under A speeding car at a zebra crossing. Yet still this kind of thunder Can happen without much fussing.   It’s all relative in the end. Be it me dead or the ant. Why is my fear so much greater, When the elements to both of us cater.   In seven billion years The Sun the Earth might absorb. This can bring us to tears Or leave placid the orb.   Memento mori. Panta rhei.   Take care, Helena Smole, author of: – a fantasy novel with...

It’s like rolling around in silk sheets, It’s even breakfast in bed that it beats. It’s telling you to start small And in the course of the day enjoy it all.   There are many paths to get there, Where the heart softens the care: From CBT to Louise Hay, From Phyllis Krystal to a forest in May.   Yet, when one feels the inner peace, It’s like the first kiss. One yearns for it all the time from then on, The most, when it is fully gone.   The answer lies in the modest way, In taking it as it happens day to day. After all, inner peace is like sun, Now there and then gone.   Take...