A gathering of trees welcomed a recombinant collective of knowledge keepers, volunteers, poets, players, thinkers, practitioners, participants, painters, deer, documentarians, story tellers, learners, teachers, the sound of spring freshet, clouds, and a fire–drenched eventually, for safety.
The recombinants recreated themselves.
They did this without questions.
Pausing first, to let the recombination settle.
Greeting each other in their new forms.
Recombinant storied beings are always in the making.
And the note taking.
And the take breaking.
The sound and the sharing nourishes their recombinant natures.
They lend hands and join forces.
And they never pretend to not be pretending.
For they know the wisdom is not found in the ending.
In recombinant gathering questions and answers fold over each other at scales unpredictable, welcoming the push and pull of their intertwined cycles.
Nobody hid the shoes at the end of the party. Primarily because it was chilly and all shoes were secured safely on feet.
This gathering started as a seed, was scorched by flame, engorged by rain, and emerged as a day to remember and possibly to repeat. Not to repeat as fire and water repeat, cyclically and inevitably, but with the care and support a seed needs to grow. Should there be a next time it might be warm; do keep track of your shoes.