It is delicate this morning, softness flowing over the mountains polishing the river. My consciousness of it is all that is known, my heart alone making it present, otherwise, it would be unnoticed, and then—what’s the use? I often think that noticing the earth I am helping, like whistling at my lover makes her glow with being noticed. Clarinets softly serenade and a water bird floats by. Rain will come tomorrow and today prepares me for it. It is soft and quiet as the earth in labor rests a morning before pushing on its birth of spring.
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