Footprints in the Windsm # 2150–Who’s to say?
Footprints in the Windsm # 2150
The breeze runs its slender fingers through the leaves of maple, here and there turning up a flash of silver; a stream play-wrestles the fishes; a dog eats the treat so he can play with the human throwing the ball. Who’s to say each of these conversations are not in some way intimate knowing exchanges? When humans “make” a metaphor from the natural world, who’s to say from the plant’s side a lesson was not taught? Who’s to say there is there no imagination that we as yet understand but even then catch?
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