The paper does not know that it is written upon. The flower does not know the effect of its fragrance. Nor does the salt know it's effect on ice, neither water upon a block of salt. We don't know why we love, only that we do, and words are never adequate, they get in the way. Not sleep, nor joy, nor play arrive on demand, but only when we surrender. A smile needs a place to land on a face. It can be seen around the eyes, heard in the voice, perhaps sniffed in a happy kitchen. A smile can even be from being caught, stealing a cookie, a nap. A face knows what is written upon it. I know my smile's fragrance, it's effect. It melts ice. Dissolves salt. Refreshes me. Inner beauty awakens. Day breaks. Faith unfurls.
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