The buds keep coming forth. The leaves brush around my feet. The dogs rush back and forth, sniffing branches, finding animal carcasses, carrying sticks around with personal pride. The sunlight flickers through the trees and falls into patterns on the ground like a kind of intangible lace.
We walk in the woods, now that we have left Colorado behind, left Iowa behind, and settled in Wisconsin to help in the building of a dream. The restoration of a place. Suddenly I have a job in the rural Upper Midwest, where I’ll be reaching out to community, planning events and workshops, and fostering the wonderful oneness of sustainable agriculture and habitat restoration. I find myself thinking, often, Is this a dream? Luck, perhaps? It is something, anyhow, that ought to be meandered through with consciousness and purpose. Yes, and gratitude.