In the Stillness
February 2025
Into this field of green I have walked a hundred times, and a hundred times,
lost my mind.
This field of daffodils was never mine, never home, never a place I could own.
It is an enigma. Here to make me sense the weight of all that is. Among the textures and colors of green lie meaning. The breeze that gently bends the blade shows me, that I too, must bend.
The meadow is here to teach. To show me how to let go. How to find endurance as I stand with my pain among the dark rich soil of misfortune.
Into this field of grass I have walked a hundred times, and a hundred times,
found myself.
This meadow was always mine, always home, always a place I could call my own.
It is a gift. Here to take the weight from me while it gives breath to the black walnut, the field mouse, the birds and butterflies as they migrate. Here to remind me that the Earth provides me the same grace as the crow or the sparrow.
Into this field called life, I have walked a hundred times, and a hundred times,
found peace
only to lose it again ...