curvaceous curiosity

Mary Oliver writes, “Almost over night the honey locust trees have let down their many tassels of blossoms, small white flasks filled with the sweetest honey. I gather handfuls and, for a second hold them against my face. The fringes of paradise: summer on earth.”

Pondering the holding of questions before us, like Mary did with the honey locust blossoms, their curvaceous curiosity at the edges of vulnerable unknowing and something new being birthed.



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