Magenta petals busking for regard; I donate gladly while tending spent blooms.
She called. She was in an accident. She is okay. Everyone is okay.
A mother can only function with single-minded action when her child is in danger. A bear's nature cannot be out run. Or out prayed.
The moon tilts its mouth to fill up on more of the night sky. Summer is coming.
With the sun just right, a subtle breeze off the lake, and the yellow swallowtails floating in and out of the picture, one might be tempted to understand that this life cannot be held.
A grand swerve to avoid hitting a turtle making its way from one side of the isthmus to the other. This and other ways that a lake can be too close.
barrel through / miss the center / swim around the bend
I couldn't bury the oriole. Perhaps skulking cats carried him away. All I know is that he is gone from the place I left him, but not gone altogether.
The old path through the woods has been widened and paved. A trail turns into a path and a realization dawns on the idea that it was never the forest that was so special. The trees and birds and flowers all remain; it is the trail that moved underfoot with the seasons. It was the earth that changed a little with each traveler – gaining and losing pieces of itself with each touch. Some how the comfort and convenience of pavement stands inferior to the unknowable surprise and discovery found within a drifting pass.
The pines still whisper and the wild grasses along the path still bend with their own weight. But I shall not travel through the same way again.