Lone goose flying,
low, honking, in blue sky, in rising sun, sliver moon soon fading,
owl hooting, coyotes yipping, welcome voices in the silent solitude,
revealing within a natural softening gratitude,
waking on the ground from sleep, after a night so dark, so deep,
with crisp air nipping, and campfire warm and crackling,
in this place, in this natural sacred space,
I resolve to be unbound by a “yes… but!” constraint, not to faint,
with a fire still burning in my heart, to do my simple part,
live my life to death still trying, even if I am a
lone goose flying.
Reblogged this on Wapatanga Wilds.
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