New

There is a quiet dignity in growing things.

A continual reach toward the light, a joyful drinking in of stars.

I look to the perfect, subtle sparkle of iris petals, the soft smiles of wildflowers.

Each dew drop, each raindrop holding the wisdom of a million years brings new life.

The dead singing beautifully to the living, the living bowing gracefully to the dead.

Each Spring, we have the choice, to start over. To honor return to life and all that gives it.

I will wash my soul in the rain and in the dew. I will reach toward the light, knowing all that has come before me.

That quiet dignity will cloak me in possibility and hope.

I choose to begin again. To see the colors and let them soothe and heal me.

I begin again.

New.