Woodstory

I've been thinking about this idea that my life tells a story, and that I have choices to make about how my story either draws from or feeds into other stories— whether human, spiritual, or natural.

I wonder, for instance, what story I am making— or allowing to make me — by sitting in this little woods day after day.

Or am I just experiencing the scenery, in a kind of drawn-out Sabbath rest?

... white butterflies and orange butterflies flitting and dipping, the breeze shaking the maples... and this tiny mustard-green insect, like a cricket in miniature, who is just now crawling across my blue-lined paper.


Bug on a Leaf photo, by L.L. Barkat.

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