17 April 2012


A large area of dry dusty earth can be felt beneath my feet, wild flowers pushing up, filling in the devoid of my life at an alarming rate. My life, the one I keep adding compost to, watering feverishly, forcing out of the house into early air, where the world is still quiet, where I can feel the damp of dew on my legs, sun not yet warming my face, as I escape under a canopy of branches, yes, that life.
I can tell you with absolute certainly that every day I wake up, I look for answers. It is only today that I have come to realize that the answer, the one I have been waiting for, isn't nearly as important as the question.

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