Concord — harmony; a grape; a town; Emerson; Thoreau; all that’s forgotten, but not unknown.
Negativity: the great pandemic. Yet the cure is instantaneous, and starts with yourself.
How strange, being a member of a species smart enough to kill itself. And here is our mother, gently whispering over us, Live, and we think her voice is only the sound of the waves, the wind in the trees.
The human being is programmed for beauty. Our default setting is love.
Don’t wait too long to find out what you’ve known all along.
Building great mounds of wet, mostly decomposed leaves, I am an architect of dreams.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches