This fir rises from the front window ... he shapes the view we see looking to the Pond. Like crusty bread he whets my appetite for Woods.
Every tree becomes a companion rooted to this place they sway even when it appears they are still. Unfretted by the inconvenience of a slope they find a way to live with it ... perhaps finding the mean or then again it may be the meaning they find that makes the difference.
Care needs to be taken to keep toxic matter and meanderings outside ... offering them up to the Cosmos to recycle them for some better purpose. Weariness worn like wet wool slowly dries off and it too can be hung with our loyal leavings --our coats, hats and outside ware, on the neat pegs on the porch wall. For another day ... weariness can come another day.
A seat by the road to the garden, one of the few level spot on the ledge gives us rest from the edginess of ledge living. A simple thing a level seat ... could we have guessed the parcel of worth such a seat would have?
If I wished for an adjustment it might be: to live the 'mean' of a usual cycle of time ... that level ground, the space that is neither super-excited by stimulation from the outside or conjuring of my own. Life on the ledge is sublime in the most beautiful of fashions. We experience calm, clean, quiet and the racket of life in the wilds ... both from the clans of creatures who were here way before us, the trees,shrubs, flowers and grasses that blossom and the humans who stir the silence with their motors, guns and machinery that cuts/blows/mows.
It may be I think in too small an increment, measuring too often and looking to closely. Oh for the mean of life where the level seat be ever available and the choice I make because it is my preference. Or, maybe not.
Be well where you find yourself.
A hui hou, Mokihana