I imagine this scene, a snapshot of any ordinary point in time, perhaps not meaningful to anyone else, is everything I need.
Wandering the path in no hurry, with no end goal, I listen.
For years I have walked this land, but there was always a burden being carried. Aware of this, my attention to where I was, where I was allowed to be, was skewed and incomplete.
The changing sky with rotating blue pockets and clouds twisting into new shapes.
This early May was the first of the year without snow, where we could walk directly touching the earth, between the trees, listening to ravens, knowing that coyotes and bears are near.
The dogs run unimpeded chasing each other down the trails we are building, and into the forest, through raspberry bushes, pine needles, and over fallen logs.
Time slows here.
Intellectually I know that is not true, but within myself, the free being, bends and controls time, and my senses take comfort in living as long as possible in this moment. Even the trees sway more slowly and the sound of wind passing through pine tunnels is music.
With each passing year that puts more distance from the beginning, and closer to another complete chapter, the more I must write of this place, setting the foundation and stages to move completely into the space and continue the journey into the empty fields.
