Yesterday could not
have been more lovely. This morning - blue sky, a rosy rim of earth all around, temperatures in the mid twenties, frost on the grass, the heat gone out of the pond, the pond smooth as glass, a clear reflection of everything we are and have. Perhaps the sky is our desire.
A sense of abundance here, not one of desperation. Even in repose the land exudes its richness. I wonder how much less lovely it would be if we'd been bombed the past month. We are a fortunate people. Even in loss, even in great loss, we are a fortunate people.
In Ripon, a seine of trees has the city in its webbing. A sweet hold on us this morning.
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