Stillness

August 20^th Stillness.

The leaves of the sycamore droop low and steady from the branches. Like a crouched cat gathering their life force, the trees call forth the rain. Even the grasses are motionless.

The morning sun carves out silhouettes on the east wall of my tent. It’s my mural. Grey on Grey, I call it. Over hanging juniper branches frame the upper left corner and the tall reed grasses ground out the bottom. The sun cascades over the rest as I amuse myself with the changing canvas.

Not much is in motion accept for my pen, and it is in this cool stillness that I greet the day with only my mind pulling me forward towards obligations and the day’s to-do list. Purpose becomes the engine driving the day, hauling me away from the serenity of quiet beauty.

I play the role of Event Coordinator for One Spirit Weekend. My list is long and my days are short. I root gently in the tall grasses that do not bend and rise slowly to the call of the desk layered with notes. I must go.