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Updated: Oct 12, 2022

I ask for patience to befriend time,

to give space to my labours of love,

not to rush or stunt their growth,

to cherish the transition from seed

to blossom, to know

that building anything of value

demands enduring devotion.

Nature abounds with works of art

from sweet cherry trees to sandalwood,

each taking years to yield its fruit and scent.

Yet, I have caught myself

courting the hubris of busyness,

rushing the harvest.

Then life has a way of slowing me down,

interrupting the sprint

between my doing and my doing.

I ask for patience

to embrace such moments,

to view each delay as an opportunity

for rest, for play, for unity,

to finish what I started,

to start what I intended,

to quiet my mind without feeling as though

I am falling behind,

to sink into a liminal space

and discover what lies on either side

of the threshold,

to mandate self-care,

and with my bidding, be bold.

I ask for patience

to create in harmony with my seasons:

roll into my winter and see my world

stripped down to timber,

disentangle my roots,

watch them grow deeper

till my summer, when my spirit

in full bloom, bears a display

of all that I have cultivated

in my cold,


quiet season.

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