NOVEMBER 10, 2016

Don’t forget the river: it takes whatever it can carry, drops what it can not.

Look up at the crows who transform stale bread and roadkill into charmeuse feathers and obsidian eyes.

Think of the willows. Whenever they break, they grow anew.

Remember the sunset, the last vivid glow in the west, yellow light under purple cloud gilding the last of the leaves on the east side of the garden.

Don’t forsake the moon shimmering into sight above the pines. She’s nearly full tonight. Let all that she will become fill you with longing for the dawn.