Woolly Bear Caterpillars & Grandpa
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Woolly Bear Caterpillars & Grandpa

“You can tell how hard the winter will be by how long each black part is,” Grandpa informed my sister and I. We were small. One of my earliest memories is this. All three of us squatted in Grandpa’s garden and looked at the furry black and rusty red caterpillar. Each end of the caterpillar was black and its middle was rusty red. It marched along on its invisible caterpillar legs and feet through the marigolds, gone to seed in early September. Now, as I write this, I imagine the three of us from above. We are in a semi-circle…

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Leaf Courage

I saw it there a couple weeks ago, resting among green leaves and flowers.  A single yellow heart, its tether disconnected from its source.  The edges of the heart were ruffled and it was a bit battered with flecks of brown on its surface.  Even though a bright red flower pulsed next to the heart, and farther away a white flower blazed and deep purple flowers shone, the yellow heart’s thrum stopped my footsteps. Then it seemed the yellow heart lifted the slightest bit and hovered there over the leaves it had rested on.  It whispered, “See me.  Feel me.”…

August Autumn
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August Autumn

It’s early August.  Even before I flip a page of the calendar, I know it.  Just a week or two ago, I walked down the little lane of pine trees that leads to my horse corral to let the horses out to graze for the evening.  The falling sun highlighted the tawny grass of late summer in the pasture past the trees.  Its warm dried grass-straw scent drifted through the pine needles.  Then, I heard it.  The crickets, out in the grasses, began their autumn song.  Like an orchestra hidden in the grass, I imagined them rubbing their upper and…