Fog and sun balance on the ridge. I feel balanced this morning, grounded. I walked with a friend yesterday afternoon/evening embraced by the trunks of redwoods. We watched the sun set and the nearly full moon move like a ship in the sky.
I read about how we need quiet, silence, how quiet places are being developed where people can pay and be taught how to listen. We’re so bombarded with noise that we’ve forgotten how to listen. I listen now, the only sounds the clicking of my keys when I type, my stomach growling requesting nourishment, and birds. All is still except the slow movement of pink fog. I feel myself pulled on its exploration, its ease. Sometimes it rushes in but this Sunday morning all is quiet.
My brother was born on July 17, so would have been sixty-six in three days. My mother who passed in 2005 would have been 92 on July 16. What is it about birthdays even when the person is gone that strikes a match inside? I’m tender, tender today, tender with ease.