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White forest flower

White forest flower



Saying my peace in yesterday’s post about my Monday’s misgivings was apparently not enough.  I should know myself well enough to expect that, when such emotions are close enough to the surface to write about, I truly must be at my wit’s end.
When I am at my wit’s end, I become ill.  Not just emotionally.  But my body breaks down with the spirit, all of which are, of course, intertwined.  I ended up feeling ill Monday morning, quite unintentionally (ie, not a hooky day).  My body decided to take a rest, and I had no other choice.  I took a sick day, which I almost never do.
By mid-day, I had begun to feel a bit better.  I had rested some and, I hope, gained some fresh perspective.  It was warm, but I felt well enough for a stroll through the forest–better for me than any medication or therapy–the perfect cure.
In the few short days since I’d last strolled down into the woods, I was amazed at what had come alive.  Buds were forming and beginning to open.  The forest floor was carpeted with a variety of small, colorful flowers–white, yellow, purple–peeking out as if to say, “it’s time, right?”







Yellow, the color of the season

Nature is a great teacher.  It cycles.  It dies and is reborn.  It is colorful and drab.  If you wait long enough, sometimes just a matter of a few days or even a few moments, something new unfolds to change the scene. 
I am not sure what my next step will be.  I am confident that something will unfold or, perhaps, is already unfolding for me and I am not yet aware of it. 
I just need to keep walking my path.