This is a portrait of my Gran Edie, a woman with the strength and beauty of wildflowers.
And a poem posted for her (and for new friends found in the Granite State):
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
As Terry Tempest Williams says, “I want my life to be a celebration of s l o w n e s s.”
And today, may we slow and stop long enough to count the miracles growing from the ground.