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Sunday, August 04, 2013

Willow, Rust and Quiet River

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through this life we pass,
here for only seventeen
syllables, three lines

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LIGHT tree and leaf springtime saying yes to the world comfort belonging In the Great Round field and fen spices of life coming home sequestered stillness

Other Moorings, Other Coves

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Magic doesn't sweep you away; it gathers you up into the body of the present moment so thoroughly that all your explanations fall away: the ordinary, in all its plain and simple outrageousness, begins to shine -- to become luminously, impossibly so. Every facet of the world is awake, and you within it.
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