Late spring

It seems that much of my writing these days comes in short bursts, perfect for social media but not so much for book chapters or blog posts. Those longer pieces require longer periods of concentrated attention – something in short supply these days and for the foreseeable future. I certainly haven’t given up the notion of a book, even just a book of essays, but sometimes I have to be contented with putting together some words in the moment. Here is the latest social media post plus pics. Thanks for hanging in here with me.

Spring is late in my part of the world this year. After one day of warmth and sunshine a couple of weeks ago, we have returned to intermittent snow and cold temperatures. Yet, spring is determinedly here, evidenced by the long days, rushing streams, and rich, dark mud.
I trust spring’s return every year; yet when life is challenging, I seem to forget that this, too, will transform into a new phase of some sort. Creeping through the forest on animal trails at dusk, alone, is the greatest medicine I know; there is no place else I feel so at home and so alive – all the more when I stumble across a lion’s leavings, or a tapestry of moss and lichens.
The purpose of life is to transform us – it is what happens as embodied creatures through time, in space, between birth and death. Sometimes the process is f-ing painful and sometimes incredibly beautiful. I find myself sitting on the ground against a log in tears both ways! 

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