Ah, a morning with nothing pressing, nothing demanding to be done, nothing that cannot be just as well put off until tomorrow. What a joy! Just nothing! All the time in the world. I may even live forever! I think Virginia Woolf referred to this as a "pearl of a day". . . Yes, one which is open to everything and pushed and pulled into any shape by a previous obligation.

I do not mind walls

no ladder needs the bird

but skies

to know from a summer day

how to stand on top of things

What I need is a computer connection directly from my brain to this site. Then as I meditate on a thing, its picture and my thoughts could come here without having to wait for me to have the time and patience to sit at the desk.

Here is my friend Kaye Like having some fun with the Dolly in the gallery. Her happiness and joy in playing was my special moment of that day.

after the storm

time heals all wounds

memory

keeps them in cold storage

until the bridge is repaired

The steady days of rain are gone and the chemical burns are slowly healing. Yet what surprised me was that while writing book reviews for Lynx, I slipped from encouraging others to read others' books, and I began to devalue my own past work. Even when the sun shines I can slip so easily into losing faith in my own works. Maybe it happens most easily when things are looking up and a dark period seems to be over - when we let our guard down and cross that bridge with missing slats.

hands folded

praying for a pure heart

yet my best day

a path of destruction

among the earth's gifts

A rainy day left me meditating on how much I use in food, warmth, dish washing soap, toilet paper, thread, salve and band aids in just one day. I thought of the earth being diminished by that much by one person and tried to multiply it out for the billions joining me in this daily destruction. My mind boggles with thanksgiving that we are allowed to continue.

Was awakened in the night to the sound of rain when the barometer had been predicting sunny weather. As I listened to this gentle, moist drumroll I let myself be carried off to other realms. The water in me joined the currents of rainwater just outside the warm shell of the room, through the open window, back into the wild. And I dreamed I attended a meeting of computer

experts. Not only did I not understand what they were talking about, or even doing but I was wearing the wrong clothes.

rainforest
the voices of birds
in ferns
unrolling the sound
of a night-time shower

On windless days the sun slides across the sea - a visitor eager to make our acquaintance. In thundering waves they arrive to lodge in small tidepools.

mirror shine
flashing from the sea
small clouds
thinking of other worlds
our slotted eyes of aliens

I have been contemplating this strong and primal (it seems) belief that going to a doctor will make something better. In the last month a couple of spots on my skin had changed so I eagerly got an appointment, waited the two weeks even more eager to get seen, and joyfully torpedoed my morning to go off to the doctor's office. He said the spots were 'only dry skin' but sprayed them anyhow with that cold fuzzy stuff. Today I have huge blisters that itch and burn.
I am marveling that I was so eager to go get this discomfort. What is it in us (me?) that believes so confidently that going to the doctor will make something better? Why I cannot learn anything from having this repeated so often over the years?