A Story Without

If you walk from pond wall to pond wall, from bogs of frogs to schools of fish, thinking not about how big or how long your body will hold its longing, you will sound out a truth with the swish of your long limbs dipping in and out of mud, squish of nails and digits into and out of thick moist muck. Prior to finding this truth, you will touch a spot midway from all things, in it you will not sink, you will not want, you will not ask for anything. Only as your limbs lift from this spot and go will you know you stood on this midway. Only by going, by having and living “without”, will this longing inform you that you had it, don’t and must roll on.

Great Blue Heron Looking for Dinner

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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