Has there ever been a place where your soul has been safe; a place where it may be coaxed out of it’s hiding. But safe.
A space where it may be fully luxuriant in its reclining into leaning and loafing itself toward grace and the storms that gather at mid-life. But safe.
Where the word defense has no meaning. Where others mutually guard the souls of others that are strewn all about. But safe.
Where the soul is safe to be revealed or exposed to the open air of day. Full sun and full air of mid-day. Out mid-field amid the tousled leaves of winter wheat. Blowing wildly in the brisk, cool spring wind. But safe.
A place close enough to shelter that it may pull itself back inside. A night-crawler escaping the fatal snap and singular tug of the Robin’s beak. But safe. A trout mid-river darting to the structure at the shadow of the hawk on water. But Safe.
Spend your days looking for that place. Go there as oft as your longing will allow - out in the plenaire spaces. But safe. It is all that matters. Find that place.
Stay there until the reaper starts down your road, and then, choose. But do not stay away because of the fear. There is no return from deep regret at the end. I have seen it in the eyes of a few. Choose. But, when the gnarled, boney finger gestures toward you, it will be too late.
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