Sometimes, my heart explodes from too much life.
A great blue heron flies over the lake
where women of many ages swim to celebrate the new moon.
We are one soul on many paths.
An unlikely friend from a southern land teaches me a new mountain song
on a grassy swell in the high country
and we watch an avalanche of light tumble down the peak.
A break in the clouds.
A friend from yoga school is struck and killed by a drunk driver
and in my first class since her death
I weep on the mat during our final Namaste.
There isn't enough time in this finite life to express the love.
And so I crave these quiet afternoons, where the call of magpies and the gentle hum of my hot sleepy house is all I need think. Where the to-do list and maddeningly full schedule I create for myself fades to the background and the only work is my own heart and breath and the birthing of this poem;
each word
an apology,
a prayer,
an attempt at acceptance.
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