sun. flower.

… and in that field that you pass by every single day. As you always promise to stop. And look closer at the world around you. But you keep rushing by. On your way to the next apparently more important “thing.” 

Today. Stop. Get close. Touch it. Your skin absorbs the earth. Breathe it. The air. Let it surround you. This is where you were born. 

 

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cotton.

I apologize in advance for my over-fascination with clouds. And the sky. And looking up.

I don’t really believe in a “heaven” per say, but I DO tend to talk to those that have passed during sunsets while staring in awe at the always perfectly imperfect sky.

This particular evening the boiling white cotton was a harbinger of an approaching summer cool front. Taking oppressive humidity and absorbing it within, before floating on.

I felt that I could almost reach out, then run into this playground of soft fluff.

  

a new generation.

In the distance at the horizon line of the ChesLen Preserve in Chester County, Pennsylvania, they have planted a new generation of tiny oaks. Many, many years from now when I’m gone, they will be stunning. And shady. Enjoy them future generations.

“A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never enjoy.”  Greek proverb.