March…

Thursday. 3:33 pm.

As the month closes, I feel anew. Whole. Sorry for the absence, I’ve had some wounds to lace and new plumbing to embrace. Now, all’s good and perfect. I can tell you for certain that all’s good and perfect! Thanks all for the everythings that have been done for me by you. I struggle for the words.

Illustrating these past few weeks, I’ll leave you with some demanding words from one of the Irishmen and a couple of my favorite shots taken from this past weekend’s unhindered runnings about:

Kendall Mountain

Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light

In a doorway, and on the stone doorstep

A beggar shivering in silhouette.

So the particular judgement might be set:

Bare wallstead and a cold hearth rained into – 

Bright puddle where the soul-free cloud-life roams.

Gunnison Valley

And after the commanded journey, what?

Nothing magnificent, nothing unknown.

A gazing out from far away, alone.

And it is not particular at all,

Just old truth dawning: there is no next-time-round.

Unroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind.

– SH, from Squarings: Lightenings, 1991.

On Bear Creek

I’ve become healed.

Much more.

Always,

T-

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