I sat by the lake on the East Bay then lounged. Then became, like the line of water and sky, more and more horizontal; like the rocks, nearly silent; like the water, far more than the calm surface.
(Reader, I mean that I slept, cheek pressed againsty arm, very possibly snoring for any passing tourist to hear, with my belly pressing against sun-warmed pebbles. But I also mean all of that about the merging and communion and deep water ecosystem).
This time of year feels like Summer and not Summer: there’s the desire to do it all… and to be still and quiet and begin to slow down, calibrating already for the drop on temperatures, the blush in the leaves, the ripening of rosehips and apples, the dropping of first blossoms and then seeds.
It’s important work to drop what I carry, too.