The light was returning. I had even opened my big mouth to utter the words- At last Spring is here! That was when the storms and the winter gales hit us with a vengeance. I was taking part in a #100DaysofWalking challenge, eating for the good of my bones and cutting out all things sugary and stodgy.....(again.) It was all going . . .
"To be a contemplative is to learn to trust deep time and to learn how to rest there and not be wrapped up in chronological time. Because what you’ve learned, especially by my age, is that all of it passes away. The things that you’re so impassioned about when you’re 22 or 42 don’t even mean anything anymore, and yet, you got so . . .
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 from the faces of leaves. Webs disappear into the . . .
Every year at least once I remember the lines of this poem. Usually it's during Autumn in the dazzling russets of dying leaves. This year it was while walking in Mount Congreve during Magnolia time. Magnolias were flowering on dark branches and there are some ancient specimens there, but it was the dying petals strewn . . .