A Day Most Sacred

The day didn't play out as planned and rather than be bothered by it, I snagged the dogs and wandered down the path through the woods to the pond. We played fetch, the dogs swam and I got dirty and wet with love. We wandered some more and then I returned to the lovely wooden chair at the pond, and there I sat, walking stick in hand. I grounded, centered and quieted mySelf. The dogs quieted too, each in their own way. I was able to sit ... and to witness ...

My world perceived as reflection ... smooth like glass ... rippled like cheap wine ... muddy ... clear ... silent ... peeping ... the hammer of a pecker ... the scent of loving decay ... swelling red bud of swamp maple ... dusty blue of a moody sky ... green needle of white pine and hemlock ... fragrant resin ... spring ... awakening ... harmony ... all ...

And a crisp, clean, almost dull flavor of a dry cranberry wine to toast the observances of a day most sacred. Ashe. Ashe.