Choices - James Crews
You can grieve the leaves stripped from the maple, all that empty space between the bare branches, or you can bless the abundance of light shining through, buffing the pine boards of the floor until they turn the color of clover honey. You can mourn the coneflowers now shriveled and brown, say the whole world's going to ruin, or you can stand at the window watching the lively yellow blossom of a goldfinch feasting on each crown of seeds, sending more than a few back home, down into the open ground, which knows how to receive them.
