On the path of transformation
there is no turning back:
autumn turns to winter,
middle-aged to old,
every step and every moment
moving us forward.
We carry nostalgia
for the times that are no more,
resistance to the speed
rushing us through
our shortening days.
The secret is to let go
like the last leaf
on the fat old oak
and drift dreamily through
the present moment,
Knowing that above all,
around all,
beyond all,
all is as it is meant to be.
We wander through our days
wrapped all in beauty.
The moon will be waxing
half-full tonight.
Listen for Wild Woman's howl.
One from the archives, kids, as my brain is vegetative at the moment. No turning back from that fact either! Cackle!
