| Amid winter, a beautiful day. Willow whips and clouds blow overhead as I take time, rake under the willow tree. Light work. My mind hears the rustling of gray-brown leaves as lightly as it hears the brushing of wings of old, sage angels. The rake scratches deeply the grass. No grasping, grabbing. Making dance into heaps. Green penetrates gray-brown. The lightest, most fragrant breeze just nudges my hair and face. The sun is so warm that even my eyelids beg for it, and my eyelashes plead for the sunlight on their backs. Everything heavy is distant, everything is wonderful. The smell of wet willow bark rises, fills my soul. As transporting as the chords and the song of life's wonderfullness, and coming from the place that makes it pleasure to dig my hands into warms spring dirt and makes it excitement to dance in the rain. I love this, I love this. Shasswish sha, shasswish sha, so light, so light, so light. |