At 2:43 P.M. today, the sun will be the farthest north in the sky for the Northern hemisphere.  Looking out the window, I see a wrap of fog.  I sense a presence and location I may not see.

Wrapped in fog, I’m embraced in reflection, given space to ingest all that’s going on.

Each day I read Heather Cox Richardson’s analysis of the politics of the previous day. 

You can read it here: https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/june-19-2020

Yesterday was particularly deviously devised, and yet I’m here in my room with sacred cat Bella above me as she rests on the back of the couch on which I sit surrounded by an amazing array of books.

This morning I read Choosing Compassion by Anam Thubten.  I receive his advice and surrender to the aliveness in this day, the precious, moment by moment receiving of grace.  

I watch the branches of the Redwood tree move softly like fans, and I sway down memory lane. I remember sandcastles my children made when they were young.  They’d surround the castle with a moat,  then open the moat to the sea, and we’d watch and wait for the slow, or sometimes rapid dissolve.  

If the tide was going out, the sand castle might stand until the next incoming tide.

This morning I received a video of my grandson drinking from a cup.  I watched entranced as he picked up the cup in his two dimpled hands and tipped it back to drink.  Whoops!  Water poured down his bare chest but he persevered. 

When I watch his throat move as he swallows, mine moves too.  I’m touched.  

People are speaking out bravely these days, acting courageously.  We all are touched by these words and actions. The tide is coming in, breaking through.  

Tomorrow is Father’s Day.  My son is a father.  I revel in waves and change.

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