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Today’s offering in celebration of Earth Day: Precious moments aboard this beautiful planet with a reading of my favorite poem by e.e. Cummings, #26

“Whatever we do or whatever we do not do, we are practicing mudras, so it only makes sense to understand what is it we are doing.

–Indu Arora

purr, purr, purr

Cephalanthus occidentalis

That little skipper…

When I look in her eyes she goes with me to a blossom world…I’m pickin’ up good vibrations….what elation…what a sensation…”

–Good Vibrations, The Beach Boys

[This post was inspired by Kathy at Lake Superior Spirit who is playing a fun game of “Photo Shorts.” Tag. You’re it!]

Overton Park Old Growth Forest

The Monday morning hustle shuffle plays on autorepeat: traffic jamming, horns blaring, cell phone ringing, signals crossing. In the heart of the city, hidden in plain sight of the human enterprise, lies a different venture. Off the paved and trodden trails, tune down, down, down the eyes, the ears, the flesh, to receive another broadcast: the pulsing song of the heart wood is playing.

[This post was inspired by Kathy at Lake Superior Spirit who is playing a fun game of “Photo Shorts.” Tag. You’re it!]

The last day of August, a field of sunflowers beckons with all heads nodding, “Come.” A detour occurs, as she on her way somewhere forgotten, steals a moment to walk the trail and look deeply into flower faces. Worker bees go on about their dirty jobs as white butterflies aerial dance over it all.

[This post was inspired by Kathy at Lake Superior Spirit who is playing a fun game of “Photo Shorts.” Tag. You’re it!]

The fairy ring showed up yesterday. Last year it erupted on August 20, only it went unrecognized as a ring because of its size. This year the entire circle is obvious, tethered as it is to the sycamore tree.

The radius is longer than the tape measure, so a girl has to do math and calculations involving pi. 🤓The circumference is just over 84 feet.

There is marjoram and thyme growing nearby, but the ring’s inner sanctum is not to be traversed. A girl who is already prone to exhaustive dancing has to draw the line somewhere. There are principles to be upheld. 🧚🏼

The morning walk into the midst led to this:

A magic moment that can’t be dismissed,

Or maybe it could, but why

miss water becoming sky?

Intersection.

Reflection.

Introspection.

Intersection.

Back to water sky flows.

Will it be missed?

Will it be mist?

Will it be in the midst

of another intersection in the mist?

“…talent is no more than a clarity of doing, an embodied moment where spirit and hand are one.”

Mark Nepo

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