Nature has no position. The grey, cool wind, the blue, and scented trees~ none call you by name,
nor does Nature know of your wrong-doings. The crumbling dirt knows nothing of your successes.
The opening blooms nothing of your failures, your pain, your grief.
Neither does the storm that breaks black thunder know of your titles, your possessions or your goodness.
Who you are. In the arms of the cold waves, and endless grasslands, of tumbling bee and winding vine
and rushing river~ Our mistakes fall loose like distant dancers. Our beliefs and dreams swirl loose, to dust.
A crow’s long cawing, on the wind.
We are free.
the fiery blend of cold and hard edges….and then we soften again….
inquiry for today~ the many names for hard beauty…..
May you have the courage
to listen to the voice of
desire that disturbs you
when you have settled
for something safe.
I’ve read that each Irish clan had a different design for their cable knit sweaters so they could be identified if lost at sea
I love that! How we mark our way in the world:) And may you too listen to what you deeply love and leave a trail as not to get lost…..