Just look at the never-ending beauty of the Earth Mother and how we have the senses to appreciate her gifts as written by the Sufi poet, mystic, and sacred person, Rumi in the late 1200s . . .

Again the violet bows to the lily.
Again the rose is tearing off her gown.
The green ones have come up from the other world, tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.
Again, near the top of the mountain the anemone’s sweet features appear.
The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine.
Peace be with you. And peace to you, lad.
Come walk with me in the meadow.
The ringdove comes asking.
With one note the nightingale indicates the rose  . . .

Treat yourself to a stroll through the gardens as our green (and finned) people come back to us.

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