It’s wild out here. Predictable and unpredictable in the same different minute.
I never know who or what will buzz or fly by – and the wind is his own world, teasing and disappearing on a whim.
The other morning I found a gold beetle. Completely gold!
This morning a fog grey spider jumped – super hero – an impossible distance and disappeared. Where?
The bumble bee, out of breath, lands beside me, big black body heaving, wispy wings quivering. He does the impossible flight every day.
Perhaps this is why nature feeds the deepest parts of us. The wild, longing parts. It soothes and pushes, whispers and calls, hides and flashes all silent and deafening at once, “The Impossible IS Possible Out Here!”