Monday, August 1, 2016


The air is pure silk this morning. Last night’s storm left in it’s wake a gentle breeze, clarity of sight and sound, sharp relief. I can hear the most minute sounds; see the edges and contrasts of every existence. The leaves in the trees are barely whispering as they sway with the grass. The birdsong is content and happy. There is a definite celebration taking place here in this sanctuary. Where did the people go? The humidity? The anxious feelings? Grateful to be sitting here amidst this quietude alone, but hardly so.
 --Villa des Amis/August 1, 2016