- William Blake
I sit here this morning, looking out on a redwood tree, and an oak. The sky is alight with openness and possibility. The fog horn blows, though it's sunny here, cool, calm. Birds are singing, and in this moment, I understand gratitude, and heaven, and companionship of movement in and out.
It is the third of July. We are moving into the second half of the year, the days getting shorter. Oh, it's not so obvious yet, though I feel it, feel this yearly turning, this downhill slide, the roller coaster thrilling ride, hands in the air, shrieks of excitement and joy, as we roll downhill one more time, before the crank and climb of a new year.
And we do this daily, as well as yearly. Moment by moment, we rise, lift, fall.
