|Even these spruce cones have a softness to them.|
The sedum and the Queen Anne's lace are in full bloom with cottony clouds of pink and white offering good things to the bees. Even the raindrops, which have appeared just as I begin to write, have no urgency.
"And next to me,
tucked down his curly head
and, sweet as a flower, slept."
Softness is about yielding to whatever harshness or sharpness there might be. It is about giving way so that better things may happen. It is about turning the other cheek. About whispers that speak louder than shouts.
During these days of recovery, I have to constantly remind myself that I chose this. That I knew going in that I'd experience a down time...a period of inactivity and softness so that I may soon be able again walk down to Quarton pond, to ride my bicycle into town. Remember?