The little ones observe, tumble, carry on. They recognize levity and learn that the ground is but one road for them. They grow in wisdom and they are gentle - their journeys meet and join or branch again in our land’s loom and the threads they leave behind are bright and sturdy, reds and whites and golds on the dry sands we left them. And they go back to the beginning. They climb again. Their weaving joins our wounds. The cloth is strong.
There is hope in this circle yet.
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