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In the wake of spring rains irresistible puddles swell holes along woodland paths.

 

 

Eighteen-month-old Lily happened upon one, her rubbery legs encircling it with glee. Excitement mounted as the circles narrowed. Then, she paused at the puddle’s edge and jumped, water drenching her boots, her arms flailing at her sides. More circles followed with intervals of pausing and jumping. Instead of retreating to dry ground, she stooped over and rippled the water with a stick, stood up, then did it again. Her mother noted all of this beneath an oatmeal sky, and when Lily tired, gathered her in her arms and headed for home.

A simple story repeated around the world—it spoke of reckless abandon. Fearless, in full motion, focused, her senses totally engaged, Lily yipped with gusto—Certainly a desirable approach to new learning, when starting over.

And do we not start over with the gift of each day?

This prayer from The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous fires my attitude: We ask his protection and care with complete abandon.

Beauty’s imprint upon the imagination unleashes streams of shimmering lights: wordless joys that warm chilled places.

Such is my experience as I gaze out my study window that frames the Summer Snowflake Viburnum shrub: Even its name, a juxtaposition that enlarges its reality, draws smiles.

This is the sixth spring that I’ve been companioned by its serrated green leaves and showy blossoms upon pagoda-like branches. I marvel at its prodigious growth, originally a spindly trunk about three feet tall. Two hot summers required soaker hosings to keep it alive, together with our conversations about surviving. Given my health issues, I never knew if I’d see another spring. Our preening in the sun must have worked.

 

HE CAME BACK!

MAY YOU ENJOY HIS EASTERING IN YOUR DEPTHS!

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