Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

I have fond memories of the donkeys I have met. Donkeys walk where the road gives up, carrying weight without complaint, their hooves remembering paths long after the maps forget them.

In their patient eyes lives an ancient intelligence — the quiet agreement between earth and endurance, dust and breath.

Blessed are the donkeys, steady as gravity, humble as morning light, teaching us how to bear the world without bitterness.