We thought of life by analogy with a journey, with a pilgrimage,
which had a serious purpose at that end,
and the thing was to get to that thing at that end.
Success, or whatever it is, or maybe heaven after you're dead.
But we missed the point the whole way along.
It was a musical thing, and you were supposed to sing or to
dance while the music was being played.
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Wild winter winds depart in a final, dying howl. Blackbird returns, a red-winged oracle of spring, announcing new life and renewed light, shimmering with possibilities of ever-circling Hope.
~ from “Red-Winged Blackbird” in POEMS OF OTHER WORLDS by Richard Bachtold