It’s the first official day of Fall, and where I live this day begins wrapped in fog, a habitat, that for me rings tender and safe.   

I feed the kitties and meditate, start with something I read yesterday that leads to this: 

Inhale: Receive.  Exhale: Fluidity.   

Two simple words propel and anchor my breath: Receptivity and Fluidity.

I open Pir Elias Amidon’s book, Free Medicine, to this:

“When Robert Kennedy lay dying from an assassin’s bullet, his blood spreading across a kitchen floor, he opened his eyes and asked, “Is everyone all right?” I like to believe that question eased his homecoming. At least it taught me this counter-intuitive calculus: when you are in need, give.”  

That brings me to reflect on leaves.  In fall, the days shorten and night lengthens with a yawn and a stretch.  Time for rest.

Temperatures cool.  Leaves stop making food.  Chlorophyll breaks down, and green disappears, giving way to red, orange, and yellow.  A breeze blows through and leaves drop to decompose, nourishing and protecting the ground, Mother Earth. 

With increasing light and the vibratory call of birds, new leaves return in spring. 

Living, dying, giving, receiving, all cycles as One.

Yesterday morning when the fog returned leaving one tree on the high ridge exposed.
Now today, a more complete wrap, no trees.


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