I am paying attention to the wind, tugging seeds from a thistle growing in the wild corner of our garden, and lifting them high into the air. Patient. Persistent. Mesmerising. I resist the urge to give a helping hand, to sweep my fingers across the thistle heads and free the seeds. There is no excuse for inaction, but sometimes, often, the best course of action is simply to be attentive, to get out of the way and bear witness to what the wind/spirit/breath is doing.
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