"For what is it to die but to stand naked
in the wind and to melt into the sun?"
-- Khalil Gibran
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| Barbie 3-11-14 |
"If you wish to know the divine,
feel the wind on your face and the warm sun on your hand."
-- Buddha
March's lion momentarily yielded to her lamb-ish side yesterday and it was glorious.
The joggers were wearing shorts. A couple of motorcycles were out. I heard the sounds of children shouting and laughing outside for the first time in months. Large, open patches of grass and Earth bloomed and spread like dirty green stains between islands of receding snow, releasing a sweet Spring aroma of possibility.
On my way to get the trash cans from the curb, I lingered in the driveway and let the stout but sun-warmed wind work away at my inner cobwebs as I watched flocks of birds dip and soar along the thermals and updrafts.
I inhaled. I exhaled. I uncoiled and expanded.
The lion is prowling again this morning. I knew she would be. She's never been one to go without a fight. But her knees are buckling.
