They sit in silence; even her stomach
stops grumbling. She looks out the

large windows at the desert mountain.
She breathes deeply and slowly. She

looks down at her hands resting on her
knees, at the age spots. She stops look-

ing, closes her eyes; images swirl and
disappear. People bring joys and sorrows,

unresolved personal issues, concerns
for others, compassion. Not all will be

resolved. It’s not therapy. After awhile,
one or two speak from the heart — their

hearts, not the hearts of others sitting
in the circle. Not her issues, but she feels

a warmth anyway. She hasn’t thought of
that joy or that sorrow, but they flow

like a spirit into her nose, eyes, ears down
to her heart. Meeting ends; tea is served.