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Well-played, September

That time of year thou mayst in me behold…

This Vermont Life

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the dappled light on the hill makes bouquets of yellow blossoms where the grass has already faded with the coming fall

this shrinking arc of day makes the jeweled promise of the morning last longer, sparkling through the leaves, instead of trumpeting overhead–insisting, demanding, expecting

the sun’s retreat also lends warmth to the outdoor shower, heating the stones under foot, once cool in the deep shade of the canopy,

a tiny, non-threatening, almost adorable, miniature-maple-leaf greets me on the path; the color red softened by the fading heart at its center

well played, September

today is the anniversary of my mother’s sobriety, and the beginning of our last week beside her, 15 years ago

i’ve just learned of wayne dyer’s passing, a teacher whose work she introduced me to at her diningroom table where she imparted a (shortened) lifetime of hard-earned wisdom with the soft light and gentle hue of…

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Lifelong educator, writer, yoga & yogadance instructor.

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