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Archive for January, 2012

Long after other leaves have fallen to the forest floor,

beech leaves float like ghostly copper kites hovering in the winter woods.

They rustle harshly in the breeze, testifying to their tough sheaths of fibre

that refuse to quit even after autumn surrenders to winter.

Soft in appearance yet near invincible in structure,

these leaves bring colour to a monochromatic time.

 

 

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The clouds reflected in this tidal stream are moving;

the sun within the clouds will come and go;

the snow on the stream banks is melting back as the saltwater works at it;

this whole scene is all about change. It will never again look just like this.

Each and every moment in our lives reflects this impermanence,

despite whatever riveting appearance holds our attention.

 

 

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When life is at its bleakest in the dead of winter,

 and their lyrically dancing forms are held stiff by the weight of heavy snow,

these bare apple trees wedged between a buried hayfield and a stark forest,

 intrepidly soldier uphill; their austere beauty a reminder that they will

once again be full of fruit beside a waving meadow and lively woods.

 

 

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If a farmer takes time from his chores to paint flowers on his barn door

while other duties go unattended, is he an artist who just happens to farm?

Or is he a farmer who is also an artist? Can this man harbour two labels,

two definitions of who he is? Or can he walk free of all branding shackles

so that he is simply whatever he wants to be?

 

 

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What if you could turn a tree inside out;

see its inner rooms, stairways, snakes and ladders?

There is an alien beauty to things so near us that we rarely get to see.

Our own bodies are like this –

writhing masses of tunnels, supports and fabrics that make us function;

all quietly churning away far out of sight

just beneath our skin.

 

 

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These pieces of ice were once part of a whole;

a smooth sheet that layered a tidal pool.

When the tide turned, the sheet broke apart into angular shards.

But despite the destruction of what was,

there is still serenity;

for what was, will be again.

 

 

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Can there be a more inspirational walk than one through

beautiful winter woods towards a warming sun on the horizon?

 When our actions can lead so directly to hope;

our very footsteps taking us to a better place just ahead,

we know our path is heading in the right direction.

 

 

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Patterns are simple yet beautiful repetitions that occur naturally in our world.

What patterns are in your life? Do they bind you?

Or are your patterns elegant blueprints

that put you in tune with your surroundings,

complementing the other random elements of your life?

 

 

 

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Where does the sky end and the water begin?

Where does our life fit into the grand scheme of things?

Do the details matter or is the inherent beauty of what lies before us,

 incomprehensible or not, what truly counts?

 

 

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When you break, remember that it is not permanent.

You will once again be whole; never the same, but whole nonetheless.

If you are able, look for beauty in your shattered state.

It is there.

 

 

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