Years ago - in my journal - I wrote:
'no more straight lines...'
I made myself a promise.
Here - amidst the bent and twisted birches - I thought:
'...and here I am...still standing...
...not a straight line among us.'
Peepers are peeping.
Birds are singing.
The grass is greening.
The prize is in the process.
The gift is in the letting go.
The power is in the trusting and following the heart's lead.