Gratitude and I had an argument, then went walking together, that morning when I felt a kinship with those turtles sunning themselves on a log.
The wisdom of not being industrious truly belongs to them, but I picked up a strand of it as if by osmosis or magnetism.
To cast aside all that seems necessary at a given time – a choice not to be confused with squandering.
Given, as is all our time. Every scrap of it a shining gift, a new blessing, another last chance to take up a little space, to take up some room
on this umbilical earth.