Sometimes you have to bow to the Dear One that clears the road.  She empties the day of all plans, all future, all hope.  It is a blessing to be wiped clean of hope, it is the true sign of surrender to the path alone.

The snow bends the bamboo so low the treetops touch the ground.  But they will slowly stand straight again.  The tallest pine loses a thick lush branch to the wet heavy crystallized water weight, and is thus pruned by Her Grace.

Ideas of the day shift within seconds.  Trust in some kind of feeble intuition causes her laughter to ring through the cold house.  But it is not evil laughter, it is gentle. 

Today when I tell Her my plans, we will laugh together, hold hands and skip through this new foggy forest together.