Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it
so that the other half may reach you.
–Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
Well before dawn today I sauntered barefoot around the outer edges of the yard, out of range of the motion-sensing lights on the house. Mentally half adrift, luxuriating in sensory silliness for about thirty minutes, in the dark, in a warm, light rain, clothed in a summer robe treated with bug repellent, hat & bandana flowing out from under it (also treated), otherwise attired only in warmer-than-usual night air. The rain slowed to a drizzle and breezes gradually picked up, turning the air to silk on my skin. No lights but the ones in me and around me. They get brighter as I spend more time in the dark.
I walked out the north side of the driveway, 250 feet to the road. There are no cars at that hour. I walked down the yellow lines in the silent road for a minute, noticing the pavement was still warmer than the grass, even after a lot of rain. I stood still and listened to a gust rattling drenched leaves to a roar of tree internal rain. The wind foretold of a change to a clear day.
Returning on the south side of the driveway, I walked in the shallow ditch that drains the water from the yard. It entertained my feet and my soul with cool puddles in squishy grass and white clover heads in my toes.
I poked around in short parts of the trails nearest the house. Steinwald Path as far as the giant spruce, and back. Whitetail Way to Rock Wall 2, through Delaney Place to the original Camp Balsamea, past the shed and Buddy’s Tree, then out Balsamea Way to Arbor Lane and Concordia.
I did not earn this forest home. I remembered the grace, unmerited favor, while standing in Concordia, one of the sacred places in Balsamea where I am more apt to be mindful of the blessings, if I stop moving and be absorbed by what is there.
I’m glad to have another original piece in this little house. I have a massive collection of photos of art in all media throughout the ages on my computer, but very little original art in the house. There are a few nice prints that my parents gave me ages ago. There are some framed photos, all mine except one forest scene from a friend.
The Balsamean 