I had to cover some newly sprouted plants over the last two nights. The temperatures dropped drastically. I shouldn't be surprised. Every Spring it happens this way. It takes so little for the cold to return. A shift in the air this way or that, and everything is revealed. So much is lived at the edge, after all. Conditions must be just so for growth, I suppose. But is that true? What machinations occur while we wait? Are nightly dreams merely a hint of the coming day?

We know truths. They lie far back in our brain and our gut, like some vestigial tail, waiting to be recalled. And when times are strained, I think we get glimpses. I think we know. It becomes all too evident that there is so much more. We are so much more. But it's easy to forget the cold in a heat wave. And memory often becomes short sighted. What once was so important quickly dims in the shine of a different day. The real trick is to remember when things change. And they will.

Today I hung a new strand of brightly colored prayer flags to overlap the old faded ones from the last season. It's a tradition to remind us of impermanence. The spring winds quickly intertwined them indiscriminately.