There is human time and there is wild time....... Clarissa Linkola Estes This morning it's wild time. A slow motion sunrise, where nature's spinners have draped everything in layers of lace. Barely present. Fragile and momentary. Later when the day fully arrives, dew drops are blow dried . . .
"If you don't love things in particular, you cannot love the world, because the world doesn't exist except in individual things" Thomas Moore The ditches are a jumble of briars, a tangle of weeds, a mess of curling browning leaves. They cascade onto the lane, in the subdued light . . .
Up the wide stairs onto the platform of Bruxelles Nord Station. The clock said 7.43, the train would arrive and leave by 7.55. In the golden light filled space there were constant comings and goings. For twelve minutes I am pure presence. Absorbed in what I miss most . . .
Blue is never more blue than it is when paired with orange. And the orange is never bluer than when eaten on a cloud in the sky. Jarod Kintz It started from the first view of the Montbretia filled hedgerows along the Dingle . . .
You are on your knees in a lavender patch, following the music of bees. In the distance a harvester is droning, and the evening sun highlights wings and petals. You are obsessing about the need for a soft bed and a warm hearth as the autumn sets in; . . .