Lately I’ve felt myself flowing down the middle of the stream, recognizing so many things are happening both personally and globally that it’s easiest and best to center in that flow.

A long-time friend passed away yesterday.  Steve sent her husband the Mary Oliver poem “White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field “. He responded that he hadn’t known the poem but had bought a white owl sculpture last week.

How can we not believe in the support of the earth, water, and air that connects us with every breath and beat of our heart as hearts branch out through lungs and the reach of arms, wrists, and hands?

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