Daffodils like music can court the heart into stories that begin without end.
I followed the trail through mud and dust to walk mainly alone; the affairs of this life and others better recalled with imagination than regret.
When I stopped looking, love stopped leaving.
Everywhere is an embrace; the place I find myself is full of possibilities for engagement.
I cannot look at the moon and believe I am unloved, sense a breeze and be unmoved, know the birds’ song and feel forgotten.
There are flowers enough to romance me, even in winter I can paint them into view.
There are words enough to convince me that what I create is the only lover I need.
And so I am foolish still.
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