It’s Sunday, and I’ve whisked us down to the birch grove at the bottom of our hill. At its edge lurks the beginning of the woods that cascade down to the wetlands that slosh out to the open water that splish-splashes in the pond that’s a lake (that’s a pond). This is my favorite place to stand on a sunny morning in May, when all the young leaves are just learning how to flutter.
“Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.”
Thank you for being here and for all your kind words yesterday. I’m grateful for your company on this journey.
Onwards we go,
p.s.—Should the above video player give you any troubles, you can also watch it here.
May 21, 2023