My brother passed 48 days ago, and today, I sink into honoring his passage, honoring the eve of the 49th day. The fog is in and I can’t see the ridge. I’m wrapped in movement as the fog passes slowly along, a flag of ease in the most gentle of parades.
I wake today feeling a shift, an honoring of knowing enough, of knowing more clearly how to nourish this world we share, honoring with gratitude my little piece and place.
Meanwhile chainsaws start up at 8 AM, one to the left and one to the right. Two neighbors below have chosen this day to prune.
I wonder what is mine to prune this day as I open my eyes wide enough to feel their origin in my skull, two balls round like the earth, open to see all sides and points of view.