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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
