May your roots grow down into deep springs,
and your heart be as absorbent and soft to fresh things as moss to rain. May your eyes, light
on gentle things
and your self be easy, like may apples in spring, tender delicate and in pursuit of succulence. May laughter,
often shake you from head to toe, rattling loose all the things that were not filled to busting with color, and warmth.
May you know that you are needed, and revel in fresh apples, clean creeks, firey orange newts, good rich dirt and gifts that you alone bring the world.
May your time here be sweet, and may you trust that when things wring you as hard as a dish towel in the wrists of an angel, that every good thing in your being is still intact, waiting for spring again, and that there are many, many beings that love you.
– Autumn Woodward, 2015