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There are days when frustrations turn into gifts: getting the car stuck in the snowbank, making my husband late for work, making me miss work…sitting in the yurt on a cold morning, alone, as smoke rises from the chimney and honey-sweetened milk steams on the stove, pulling the blankets over my legs as I finally put pen to paper again.

I am learning once more the way moments truly move, without speed, without knowledge of a beginning and end.  Winter is whispering in my ear again, bringing me back to the blank canvas where possibility begins.

I whisper back: here I am

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