Today I went forest bathing. Sublime. There’s a trail through the woods near Chris’s house, and when the sun finally almost appeared, after a long dark drizzly morning, I hit the trail. In an hour’s walk, I encountered one other walker with his dog – a huge beautiful forest, empty, quiet except for woodpeckers and other birds, otherwise nothing. A running stream, wind in the trees. Otherwise, nothing but nature. A lot of moss. Moss moss moss.
Last night, Patsy and I went to a Gabriola event – a First Nations family who design clothing and other things were having a fashion show at the Hive, a shop in the centre of the local shopping strip. It was charming.
And then we ordered a take-out pizza and went to her home in the woods near the South Road (Chris is near the North Road). She built it herself and has lived there for nearly 30 years; I’ve stayed there several times. It’s beautiful, tranquil, full of poetry, framed, on the wall. I read several of the poems and wept. Especially this one.
on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over fall fields, we name names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
What we need is here.
Today, dark and rainy most of the day, until the afternoon. In the morning, we prepared for the visit of two of Chris’s friends for lunch. His house is so lovely, especially when it’s dark outside.
Much to be grateful for. What we need is here.
And if you need a smile – there’s this, my kindred spirit in Russia, groovin’ to the beat.