And don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.
Listen to the unstruck sounds, and what sifts through that music.
Only the soul knows what love is.
Inside of us, there's a continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.
Earth tries to work sorcery on us, saying Tomorrow, Tomorrow, but we outwit that spell by enjoying this now.
Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom.