The bush in my garden blossoms memories.A fragrance full of childhood wonder - all colours expressed in one sniff.
Two weeks later it's over again. A memory of a memory.
I travel through a place which speaks of ancient magic - a time I somehow know.
The energy remains yet everything is different. I soak it in, and then I leave. When will I return?
It is a special feeling, both heavy and light which keeps me alive as opposed to just existing.
Grief and joy expressed through life's fragile nature.
The act of letting go, of not clinging, allows me to experience the full depth of what this flower, this river, these mountains are.
The moment I want to hold on, the flower disappears and simply becomes an object.
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