Sunday, March 26
HARVEST Even if it’s not the same rabbit we still call it our rabbit, the one who scrounges each morning in the yard, preparing for winter. There’s a sort of solace here— in the sunlight gathering in the leaves of the sycamore, the blue jays who visit the crepe myrtle at twilight, the green stalks of sunflowers sprouting beneath the bird feeder where seed has fallen from the beaks of sparrows, all that returns to us— There is a secret—the story about death and the one about gratitude, they are the same story. (Colin Bailes)