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.
Grains of hope still remain Memories invade my brain When I seek peace I feel…
I found him on the porch that morning, sipping cold coffee, watching a crow dip…
Do you love things that cascade? Do you adore rain falling in sheets or over…
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