I see balance in the foraging behaviors of juncos, robins, deer.
In the easing into nighttime and the easing into dawn.
In the fluctuations back and forth – cooler night then warmer day, back to low, back to high, and yet a steady pace toward overall colder.
In the way that flickers only come around the house in spring and fall but are rarely visible in summer or winter.
In the shifting balance of colors on a leaf…
The sight, sound, smell of a place lovingly restored to balance looks like compassion.
Rose-scent and lavender fragrance.
The infusion of lilac flowers into the lungs.
It looks like beauty,
A place lovingly restored to balance is biodiverse and culturally rich with spice and textiles, reciprocity
Balance is also about moderation – not excess or asceticism.
Balance is paint swirled across paper, curling into smoke-like arcs that feed inward and outward. Balance is strifelessness, warlessness, music and tempo.
It is one new flower for every wasp, five new blades of grass for every drought-stricken strand.
Balance is the feeling of wet cush underfoot where moss has sprung up in the field;
a return to balance is a sacred verse on every breath,
even the final one.
It is unity, hope, offering.
It is the chance to start anew,
to forgive and apologize,
and to light warm fires.
Utterly, a place that is restored to balance has love in its soil and compassion in its limbs.
It nourishes and it receives.