Just me

Those small feelings, they surface quietly. Aloneness, but not loneliness. I make my way to the house and sip on some tea. Perhaps play something baroque, just audibly. There’s never anyone else but me. Can anything truly be shared? I walk thru the woods, speak to the plants and trees. This is me. Just me.

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The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light onto tender greens. The lichen observes the rabbit, and waits. And the trees listen. The last chilly breeze means nothing to the wing of the robin. Poised, she sings.  

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May 1st

When I woke up this morning, the bright light was already streaming through my window.  It was May 1st alright, and about time that spring had arrived in my part of the world.  April was a lot colder than it usually is, and you could tell as much by the slow, slow budding of trees […]

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