Waiting for It

Dear Ones. This morning I had a conversation with a friend where I talked about the main pathology of American life as I see it: Impatience. The hurry to get, do, achieve, that sometimes blocks our ability to see what we already have, are, and hold. I’ve been thinking about this, about waiting and about the cycles of nature. All of this, plus the first snow of the season, inspired today’s draft.

These things happened in a couple of days:

I walked over thick carpets of bright gingko leaves and crushed berries

the astringent scent of their next generations.

Then it snowed.

Four inches first-of-season white muted by gray skies

seen through dusty windows.

Then it melted --

revealing still-vibrant yellowed gingko leaves,

exhaling into the frigid air

a patiently held breath

whispering "I am here. Still."