“I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”― Robert Frost
The hem of Heaven.
The earth beneath my feet.
The common work between the mountains and valleys.
In all things, in each moment, a possibility to see and be new.
Present, awake and in awe, sitting right next to boredom and commitments.
Auto pilot off, task checking paused, for a moment or two a swinger of birches.
Delight in each season and the moments they are made up of.
Next and near to, a breath away.
May each see all that is before, breathe deeply, choosing what to grasp and what to release.
“The best things are nearest: breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of God just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life’s plain common work as it comes certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life.”― Robert Louis Stevenson