Maxwell Wildlife Sanctuary called. The antelope on the mesa leapt and danced. The ravens tumbled and swirled in the wind. The white pelicans looked like a mass of cotton balls had fallen upon the lake. The hawks stood vigilant in the trees. Three deer stood and chatted in silence. The geese trumpeted their way into silence upon the wind chopped lake. And this weary little hobbit drank deeply from the gifted chalice.
In the midst of such movement and landscape beauty only the whisper could have drawn my eyes to you my little friend. A leaf that has been dined upon and left with a scar. But the scar is in the shape of a heart. From the heart my eyes drawn to three large gifted raven feathers and another gifted by a hawk. I came to the sanctuary to receive. The receiving gifted by what others lost. Sweet Hands of Life, may my journey carry forward their gifts. Like those who gifted, may my heart know only the gift of others receiving.
BirdWings by Rumi Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror up to where you’re bravely working. Expecting the worst, you look, and instead, here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see. Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. if it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, The two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birdwings.
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