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Ann Collins's avatar

Neil, you walk in the world like a beloved guest, leaving little trace of yourself. Only your deep appreciation. This encounter reminds me of the last lines of Mary Oliver's poem, "October" :

.

One morning

the fox came down the hill, glittering and confident,

and didn’t see me—and I thought:

so this is the world.

I’m not in it.

It is beautiful.

.

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Richbee's avatar

Resting, presence aware. Rabbits decide not to run. But not trust the moment.

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