There are times when the flux of life
Has the quality of lava,
Melting, reshaping every familiar feature,
As its red fire runs from height to depth.
What landscape will emerge,
What accessibilities, inaccessibilities,
What cultivability,
After the ash settles and the rock cools,
Lies nowhere in our power.
Our only freedom
Abides in choosing, or not choosing,
To open ourselves to the changed terrain,
To search for paths and passes amid the alien crags,
To grow what vines we can, where we can,
And to taste the new wine without regretting the old.
by David Singleton
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| Tiger's eye crystals © Jennifer Phillips |
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