There are flowers opening in the woods this morning
My favorite creek-rock is bare where it used to hold old leaves and the path sports new sprigs of grass along its edge.
It is prickly-cold still but the one pink Salmon Berry blossom in the brambles lets me shed grandiosity like an old, ratty cloak.
Love was never something to earn anyway.
It is the Ruby-crowned Kinglet hopping about in the branches by the trail while birdsong fills the wood to its edge.
It is walking in the company of trees through the exquisite winter chill, each step blooming with the richness of being exactly like this.