A moose reclines in a forest in a high mountain Spring, Marsh Marigolds in bloom, no hurry, no rush, no timetable, life with no agenda, following the seasons, not searching for reasons, flowing like the melting mountain snow, being what it is, no more, I sit and watch, a lesson to be learned lies waiting there, I see it, I hear it, will I receive it? Can I believe it, for me?