I rise at 4:45.  Tiger wants to go out.  All is silent, no wind, only a wrap of fog.  Light comes and birds begin to call and the boom of the fog horn pours through.  

I’m on my way to Muir Beach, then up the coast to Pt. Reyes Station for a dharma talk on trees and then a walk on the beach with two friends.

This moment seems a place to put words in a bin and roll them to the curb.

Silence rolls through my bones.  Fog rests, and even as I type, it moves, and the ridge begins to reveal. I see another layer of trees.

Unfolding


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