It started with poetry from my favorite, E.E. Cummings.
Blueberries, port like, summoned and satisfied; they burst into crimson stains in the snow beneath my footfalls, not to mention on my yearning palette.
Then, after a facial from Kelly Strong, I walked up the saddle in Eagle River. It was a silent and spacious hike, so I'm compelled to bring back scenes from the mountains.
Doesn't the soil seem richer in anticipation of the nutrient dense leaves? Decay and life are interwoven here, and the yellow will melt into the earth to return in the spring.
There are those days that seem to take form from pure kinetic energy. The work you do, the plans you lay bring into motion a day, whole in rejuvenation.