Temperance / Import-Export

The heart is a courier. It moves the blood from need to need. Import the oxygen, export the carbon. The courier doesn’t make or keep. They move. They carry things along with them. A curious profession. It depends on the truth that many precious things are far from where they would do the most good. The olive or the apricot would fall rotten to the ground in the shadow of the parent if it did not make itself silky or sweet. Where will the idea take flight? The information unlock? The love take root? Where will the sweetness be savored? The medicine accepted? The dead fertilize? The courier calmly rearranges and trades. With so much movement we could be forgiven for forgetting how the courier worships balance.