“Were it only mine to choose, I would never leave your side. But one cannot slay dragons while languishing in the arms of the lady one wishes to protect.”
“The dragons will wait.”
“But they must still be slain.”
“They will wait.”
“Were it only mine to choose, I would never leave your side. But one cannot slay dragons while languishing in the arms of the lady one wishes to protect.”
“The dragons will wait.”
“But they must still be slain.”
“They will wait.”
Such work always brought to the surface some ancient wrathful Goddess that lurked deep inside her psyche, waiting after millennia of suppression for the moment when her creative fury could be unleashed in pursuit of some evasive truth.
I was looking out the window last fall, watching the leaves come down and it hit me like a ton of bricks: I‘ve probably spent six months of my life raking leaves. And it was in that exact moment that I realized that I couldn‘t rake another one. Ever. And I, the human schmuck, was spending a lot of time trying to make nature behave.
•My step mom used to say the neighbors would think leaves were tacky. Wtf?! You can‘t fight nature, why try? 🙄•