Ah, I think I see a few of the tricks now.
It’s easy not to cling to the last snow of the season,
coming as it does at the end of so long a winter.
And the last daffodil, the last swallowtail butterfly, the last ripe pear –
they’re noted only in retrospect, so it’s not very difficult to let them go.
In the fall, the maple leaf devotes itself so completely to its changes that,
blazing into a timeless moment,
it simply releases from its branch
and softly descends
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Posted by kind permission of Richard Nowogrodzki.
I brush away snow to watch the pulse of water beneath ice. We’re allowed to…
How to meet the grey turn of the forecast, the stutter of any new uncertainty….
Go gently today, don’t hurry or think about the next thing. Walk with the quiet…
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