Secrete your despair into the hollowed-out base of a giant sequoia, then step twenty paces back, and stretch your arms out in front of you. Slowly narrow your eyes until your vision clouds and everything gets dark. Breath deeply and whisper “sequoia, sequoia, sequoia.” Wait for confirmation and offer a gift. (A song, laughter, or a prayer will do.) Honey, if you never try, you’ll never know.
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Today: the husky red tannin of redwood tree bark, fibrous green malachite, music in the key of G, the sound of a tea kettle whistling on the stove, the honey-eyed acceptance of night blooming cereus.