A simple scrich. A simple image. Winter’s tree limbs cupped like a hand. A gentle hand holding my raven friend. He was watching as I shoveled snow in an area of the yard to put out seed. I looked up…..
Two images on a day of broken and damaged hearts, world news that makes my own heart sigh, and a sunrise feather gifted. It seems we are forever looking back to a manger, a burning bush, a Bodhi tree, or some other promise…..
That I might see the weathering of life as gifting the shape of a heart. That my needs might be so simple that my roots would thrive and flourish with so little. That I might trust where I…..
I laughed to think that they were late for their breakfast seed. I guess such a blustery cold winter’s night and morning had kept them snuggled wherever it is they roost. Wasn’t even 5 degrees and snow was still falling. I…..
The gentleness of autumn’s grasses. Sometimes even the most solid and stalwart presences need a touch of softness. May my heart and arms be so aware and malleable.
Life’s labyrinth may look foreboding, thorny, and sentinels guarding your every step. Or, with soft eyes and open heart, the color, dance, and even the drops of nectar can leave you breathless in awe.
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