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Sitting with Longing

Sometimes quiet is the bare tree outside my window stretching into the pale gray winter sky, the branches full of longing for nothing in particular. Maybe, longing is simply desire at rest, yet simmering with anticipation—an awareness of blossoming and fruition during a fallow season. Longing is akin to grief, though you ache not for something lost, but for something you have yet to grasp. 

Learning to appreciate and sit with longing, to rest from having to do something about it, is a bittersweet relief. The bittersweet flows from the acceptance of presence and absence, growth and rest, wanting and waiting. Relief comes from allowing the self to feel, and trusting in the nature of things.

People may complain about winter, but deciduous trees likely do not.

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