When the stars fail you, sit under a tree and it will tell you everything. What’s old is always new again, the crocus corm
When what was tumbling became tumbled, kissed and glistened there. When the sunset on the mountain pressed close what hadn’t been. When the gloaming
It is March, and your grass has just returned. You are green, but nothing like your lush August self— full of daisies, periwinkle, Black-eyed
I woke up with the blues today, no, that’s not quite true, I woke up hungover from a dream—I know— you don’t want to