There is a welcome in the light that lifts its face at dawn. I see the curve of the smile in the cloud's edge before the sun comes to take possession of the sky.
Birds hear the whisper and join in with ancestral song, brushing off the rimy cobwebs of night with pure memory gilded in the springing notes.
Wash it all out through tearful eyes - walk along the meadow's ridge and listen; see what everyone is failing to see.
No time, no-one is there, and though the kites fly in the sky there is another bird up high that wings himself on further, to the very highest mountain top from where he keeps an eye on man's endeavor and judges those who do not try.
A long time ago I lived in Nepal. The ground was stony and we could grow very little but there was a tough little flower with white petals that grew everywhere, even in the shadow of the stones. We called it old man's weed but I have no idea why.
Listen to your heart and not to what others around you are saying. They may see only the negative in a person when in fact what they are really seeing is a projection of their own fears.