drabble, gratitude, katharine griffiths, Poetry, storytelling

Maple Syrup

Random thoughts pop into my head. I dismiss them as easily as kicking snow off my boots. I should keep these strange ideas to myself. What will others think?

‘Sap doesn’t ask the maple for permission to start flowing. It doesn’t look for approval ‘am I flowing right’, it doesn’t look for reassurance ‘is it ok that my stickiness is getting all over you’. Yet it flows each year with the spring thaw. Becoming sugary sweetness with a bit of allowing, care, and warmth.’

There it is.

Maybe these ideas are simply nature leading the way.

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