It could be the rain that gives permission to let go of worry, forgive the body, its pain, shift awareness outside this cracking vessel. Maybe it’s the rum cherry, its pendulous fortress of branches, scaling bark & wands of white flowers, the shock of lemon-yellow goldfinches, suck of mud beneath your bare feet, stepping with purpose to keep from bruising wild violets & tiger moths. If skin was toxic bark & the heart, pith & xylem, would we be any stronger? If brain synapses were fibrous as mycorrhizae tunneling through dark earth, if we lived above & below, flowering & fruiting after every winter, could we better accept what comes next?
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I think we could. Nice job.
Yesterday I found myself in a set of circumstances where I would normally worry. I gave myself permission not to worry. It was a bit odd at first, like jumping into cold water. But then it felt so good. If all measurable tasks will be done (or not done) the same, why add the worry? It was a lovely gift to myself.
And your poem is a lovely gift to me and your other readers. The imagery and feeling tone of it are so comforting and wise. Thank you!!