A sparkle draws my eye to the concave curve of a spinach leaf. Stars of luster twinkle upon the snowflakes with the first blush of day. A rime tapestry hangs on the transparent greenhouse walls, an ephemeral masterpiece. Blue jays call across the quiet sky. The sweet voices of their fellow songbirds have drifted away on a southerly current. Grounded in these seasonal changes, I feel my own constitution quieting, conforming to the annual equinoxes. With each season I farm under the open sky, my center aligns with the core rhythms of the earth.





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