A quick breath

Falling closer to stillness

A gift before the tree excused me

A gift before the tree excused me

Glancing up, I happened to see the rain begin to slow. Not let up. Still plenty of it drizzling down. Before my eyes, its falling suddenly shifted into something closer to stillness coming in mid-air, as each drop, every drop, took a gentler pace, no longer hurtling toward the hard ground below to burst asunder in a splash, rather now easing downward to tenderly meet, settle onto, and soak into the supportive earth. My chest ached as the metronome of my heart was, in that instant, rendered out of sync with the grace of the moment. What is there to do but breathe?

Raindrops, now snowflakes
falling closer to stillness–
more time in the sky.

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A quick breath

What yield?

Grapevine pruning

Did you know they weep when cut?

Pruning the grapevines–
choosing what lives and what dies,
will the yield be good?

Neglected vines. Dead vines. So many buds. Blackberries thorning their way through. Start cutting. Cut away the spent ones, living only as the mold that eats them. Cut away the damaging ones, who rub another to wound or choke it. Cut away rows and rows of buds–so many potential vines, fruit, forms. Feel the vines’ tears as they land on the back of your neck or wrist. Shed a few of your own. Keep cutting. Apologize and thank the cuttings, now just sticks on the ground. Keep choosing. Concentrate the growth. Cut your hand on a stubborn blackberry vine. Find a tool to dig it our from the roots. See how far they spread. Return to cutting.

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