I light my candle because it exists. Damn candle, brightness piercing through my tears.
From star to star, from molten blob to smoldering ice, so many journeys from hot to cold to get things just right. Ah, so many fields of foliage — waves of miracle — each unfolding in their time to the sun, wave overlapping waves. When I wonder at my shoots, or fuss at how graceful my leaves, or worry how straight my tendrils, I gaze around and reflect wherein I am a part of; I am beautiful because I am a part of you.
Oh, why slug through these miserable lessons when I could tip–tap with joy? — or, perhaps that’s the lesson.