My peace, plated for me... it's my portion. Seasoned with the finest salt and herbs from the gardener's garden. Garnished with love and compassion and a side of "What did you learn?" soup. My peace, slow simmered by the daily fires of life, flamed with scents of obiedence. And every bite requires a dance, to be noticed, remembered and addressed with gratitude. Because my belly is content with the portion given, needing nothing more and requiring nothing less. My peace, seasoned with grace, served with joy, gifted by love, plated by belief, inherited by blood. And every time my peace is cooking, it's scent fills my heart like homemade cookies baking in the oven. And even though many didn't smell my peace simmering.....I didn't care to share, because how could you not notice the slow simmered fires of life brewing under me? The smell of my perfectly completed portion? Maybe because it's plated only for me... that's my portion, My Peace.