We've heard much about lowered expectations because of the drought, but we know the woods is never less than spectacular, regardless of the season.
We enter here at the back of the overgrown field to the shriek of jays. Then silence envelops us. Our spirits lift.
Breathe deep the perfume of cycles, the delicious scent of decay.
Each step quickens the pulse as we follow the path we took yesterday into the hollow and up the other side toward the cabin.
We pause for a moment in the mosaic of change.
Beauty surrounds us; it's everywhere we look when we are still enough to see it.
Under the cloud cover, some would call this a dreary day. Listening to the wind above us in the thinning, shifting crowns, we would not.
Close to the cabin now, we see it through the boughs. But we are in no hurry.
Our time is our own. This is freedom.
Alone with our thoughts, we find ourselves good company.
This is our Lourdes.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
