How hard it is to find something to write
Every
Single
Day
How minuscule and inconsequential
These days seem to me
And why should I write of what we do
When so hard
So deeply
Sit the days for others
For us- apples keep blossoming
And now the cherry blossom
Has finally dropped
And sprinkled the ground with
Spring time snow
A celebration of the marriage
Confetti came from
The Horned God
And his Divine Consort
Bluebells now
Dot the gladed garden
Dandelions
Wild garlic explosions
I sit in the midst of a blessing
Why should anyone read this?
For comfort and knowing
There is a grace in this
Nwyfre 