On the far side of the water a crack and crashing. Heron takes flight. Squirrels scamper away. Large limb continues its slow crumbling towards a resting place.
There is a silence – almost a reverence.
Unable to discern Jung’s promised synchronicity and the wisdom of self-pruning, I down lukewarm dregs of coffee and slowly walk towards home.
12-11-23
My husband's poetry 
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