A valued acquaintance sent me this link yesterday:
Read more about Talking Waters>
How does last night’s fallen snow
feel about the morning sun’s radiant touch?
Is there a deep yearning to be melted,
or is there a great fear of death?
“They can be one, the same.”
The sharp-shinned hawk throws himself,
like Cupid’s hell-bent arrow,
head on into the bough-damp cedars.
He has faith in a universal memory
that has never occupied him personally.