Gold glimpses from behind a log, beneath a bramble, resting on a tree hollow.
A tiny precious few are closer.
Ask the ant.
All is YELLOW.
Yellow is the world.
Beneath the shade of very big trees, life is.
Dry leaves and wet mud, surrounded by greens and browns and stillness. Color seems impossible.
Walk and listen for echos of Yellow unconsciously.
Slip among the greens and browns and stand in cool streams and squish wet mud between cold toes and shiver at the wonder of it all knowing that here is now and now is here
and then it’s not.
Until then, sleep.
Dream in yellow.
A friend recently lost her mother. My wife’s friend is facing the very real possibility of leaving behind her young family as she fights with cancer. We are all small ants. May you find strength and peace and yellow dreams.