On Boxing Day I went for a walk, walking the bounds, as it were. Seeing the land I live on, with its buildings and beings and ways. I found myself able to let go of superficial observations like, ‘oh, I like this yard' and 'I wish they weren’t building that house here,' and just stay with what is instead of what I might prefer it to be. It transfigured the place for me.
Still, I can’t help noticing what a thing of beauty this place is. I picked across bulldozed land to get to the park, where mallards drifted about the unexpected pond, a gift of this season of rain.
Dandelions lifted bright faces to the world. I thought of Brigit and looked around for the pollinators. Mostly, the dandelions had no visitors; a fly supped on one.
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