Grace
May you feel the grace of our Great Mother, who calls us to soften.
The soft rustling of aspen leaves falls upon my chest; my breath slows down. I am integrating a sweet dieta with Bobinsana, a loving plant I have communed with. I recently moved into a studio above a garage on one hundred acres of wild land between Rollinsville and Blackhawk. Right out my patio door, I see Longs Peak shining his jagged glory upon me and hundreds of miles of wild land.
I feel the light of the sun rest upon the aspen trees, and I am at ease in the grace of our Great Mother.
