Growing, outgrowing the cocoon of what once was, emerging and releasing myself from my crutches, standing on two firm feet in the sand, not drawing lines between things or attempting to, but letting them be. 
I’ve been watching the seasons change from darkness to light, and sometimes back again through the hours, and I would like to experience the year in a place completely without break, to sit in the whole thing, acknowledge its seasons and count them, how many buds there are, how many springs can there be, realising the cycles of life, the circles and the eternities in between, the forevers that morph and evolve, that are never the same. 
I realise now as I have done before too that it is essential to get outside and to touch the air. I STOP AND SMELL THE FLOWERS LIKE I used to, and it it so sweet. To touch life. To wonder at its beauty, at its simplicity.
Perhaps I will always pick the snail up off the pavement, but perhaps there is more harm in that than good. Isn’t it said to not dabble with nature? It knows its course. But maybe that is an unannounced care, to let things go untended, to let the garden grow, to let the coffee overflow the cup, to let the ice cream melt without wincing, to accept the messiness of it all, the things that overflow and leak. 

But how not to let go of dreams, how not to let go of the threads of a desire to be something. How to know when to quit and when to lose. To fall instead of being pushed. To jump instead of being gently nudged. The need to take the leap, to hurtle and fall and stay on the ground for a while. To take shelter beneath the world, beneath its warriors, cultivating an acceptance of patience and disappointment. Knowing when to fight and went to surrender. Learning that we don't need to be saved, we only want to be.