I curled my leaves and starved myself to the root to deny the pain of blooming, to pollute. and what I found was that the sun didn’t shine much light and the flowers didn’t look as bright and the earth didn’t taste just right and I learned that the sun needs me and the flowers […]
Be so still that you finally notice the way the clouds once mistaken for still and sure rush across the sky by the hand of an unseen gale and perhaps consider why you too are always in a hurry
I am not a stranger to the rain. I am not a hard-packed desert who at first storm-break will flood, reject the course of life that comes most naturally. I am soft enough to accept the storm without spilling– to soak sorrows into these old-growth forest bones and milk the life from gathering clouds to birth tender shoots reaching for the sun.