It isn’t a matter of using the day, but of finding a way to express one’s gratitude. Or it might be a matter of finding one’s gratitude and expressing the way.
Junco bathing in a puddle — sunlight-celebration.
Death is the poet’s last poem. Life is the page it’s written on.
The body ages like a star. The mind is its light, seen from afar.
Joy is the moment the mind and body are fully aware that each is the other and neither is there.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches