This Too Shall Pass. . .

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This too shall pass. . .

Shadows of birds flying on the sidewalk; clumps of wildflowers spilling over the fence; cracking noise of a porch door swinging open—this too shall pass.

Drumming of raindrops against the cement floor; tamarind pods swinging from the tree; bent legs of dragonflies moments before they spring to the sky, their gossamer wings catching the light—this too shall pass.

A knot of hair coming undone; bluish-green veins that travel like rivers under skin; bones poking out of people’s bodies—this too shall pass.

What we love shall pass, what we hate shall pass.

We shall pass.

We radiate iridescently only for a fleeting moment on this earth.

Why not dance euphorically to the frenzy of life?

Why not make magic during our short visit?

Why not begin the magic-making in our notebooks, drawing out the beauty and the madness that we witness, mapping out the unfolding of this world by stitching words together?

Make magic.

Then, let it go.

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