Despite the wind with its whipping twists
and the sting of the fierce face slaps of snow,
the day invites us to enter, to go lightly
into its rumpled hills--though the path
is erased by drifts, though we fall and struggle
to stand again. Sometimes the call
to fall in love with the day is easier to hear
when it's hardest to imagine how.
Bitter gusts and swirling gusts
and gusts that steal our words.
Trying to fall in love never works.
It is more a matter of getting out
of our own way--not trying to orchestrate
the storm, just finding a way to play in it.
Heavy snow. Dim snow. The sky rushes
to fill in the tracks where we've been.
There are no tracks for where we're going. There is a
call to fall deeper in.
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