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Long had Nate held his inner pain to be the fault of others, caused by others. Never once had he looked into the mirror of his own soul and asked what different choices he could make, not for his own sake, but for the sake of others. In each moment he made only choices for himself and surrendered to whatever fear came his way - as cowards do. Were he in war he'd be a traitor, crying, "What else could I have done?" Should his choice be a splinter in his own finger for all eternity or to burn the world, he would see it as no choice at all... "obviously" he would burn the world. That is why Grandmother always said the worst of traits is cowardice, for, over a lifetime, one born will all potential to be good and kind will be nothing but a source of rot in humanity.
The rain comes, oblivious to the life it gives. It washes the world, quenching soil and the life whom depend upon it. In either warmth or coldness, sunlight or moonlight, rain comes, humble to its role. In this almost-spring afternoon, it is the percussion to the birdsong and the bringer of brightness to every hue of bark and leaf.
Amelia stands so still, eyes following the bird in flight. She watches as children do, with that look of love and awe. Her eyes stay with the bird, the beating wings capturing her mind in the most calming of ways, the same way soft waves on the beach do. It's as if she's in love with nature, with life itself, and I pray this life nurtures that sense in her, keeps her as whole as she was born.
Your suffering, your memory of it, is like a teddybear fashioned from glass shards - the tighter you cling to it the deeper it will cut. So perhaps practice putting it down for longer periods of time, noticing when you have picked it up and it slices at your skin. You and it are separate. One day you'll notice that the bad teddybear is gone, you lost it sometime and never noticed. You will see that your good and noble choices made a better life, something positive, and now you hold a new teddybear, soft and warm, one that brings an inner glow and keeps you cosy under starlight and sunshine alike.
Tomorrow the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold, the last serenade winter's song. Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping us in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It's one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are. Breaths rise in puffs, arms hug each body tightly and there is a briskness to movements that will melt with the snow. Come tomorrow faces will reflect the warmth of the sun in their smiles; today they show resilience and a will to prevail.
Dusk comes to bring us moonlight, to the time of reflection upon the day passed and awaiting day to be renewed by the light of the sun. It is when the birds sing goodnight until the stars bid them to dream under-wing. Each hue deepens in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.
There is a playfulness in nature, in the skies, woodland and soil. The time of plenty is coming and the joy of coming abundance energizes the air. In rain or shine, there is a new warmth, inviting the lips to smile. The greenness of the grass is soon to be echoed by the trees, while the flowers promise their rainbow garland to our Earth.
The path is a silk scarf over green hills; it undulates with the earth, leading into the horizon of land meeting sky. It could have been woven for thousands of years, perhaps in a place where time is truly forever, a place of eternal serenity. Each footfall is cushioned from below and the next encouraged, for this is a path given to the walker, to the one who loves adventure and a chance to follow the rising sun.
In this light that paints my skin so warmly, the trees are dancing ladies, each in dresses more fabulous than any designer can craft. They move, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another. They are the life and soul of this early summer morning, and I wonder how many hues of green my eyes are witnessing. As they stretch upwards and outwards toward the light, drinking in rays as pure as the rain, I stretch my arms up too, fingers spread toward the sun and slowly begin to dance.
There was something of the summertime in the twins, as if they reflected the warmth of one another, passed it like a beach-ball if the other felt sadness. Perhaps that's what made them so resilient and such a joy to be around. There were, of course, times they fought, but then they were simply as kittens learning how to be cats and it evaporated as quickly as it came.