Spring, or its threat, seems to have brought with it a funk of self-doubt and self-recrimination, and yet, there is a sense the background is expanding; the habit of thought has become acute; the great-substrate, the big, big sky is watching and waiting for us to let go.
Indeed, the world is animate and animist, our mayfly concerns barely rise to the level of a single comma, let alone a whole word in the long conversation. Let us not talk about it, rather let us glance at the grammar:
“Fairy Burrow”
“A hole in the ice.”
“Maybe? A different filter or lens will help?”
“I almost didn’t use this; certainly not a ‘.’ barely a ‘,’”
“As hard as we try, sometimes the tree is just too big and our effort too small. Sometimes, giving up is the best way to move forward.”
“Giving up, one becomes the tree. Now become the snow.”
Not for long do we abide. The conversation continues without us. At this moment we understood, the conversation is us:
“And the trees and the snow grow anew again & again.”
Really liked this one!