Trees need not walk the earth  
For beauty or for bread;  
Beauty will come to them  
Where they stand.  

~ David Rosenthal, from Trees Need Not Walk the Earth

Sunday in the woods, rambling along happily. In Rocky Narrows is a fabulous descent, a steep, rocky trail, I take it often. This fabulous tree, for decades and decades, is rooted on this hill among the boulders, a fine base of fern and moss meets every passerby at eye level. Last night, this morning, I dreamed of travel and being unpacked and unprepared to go. My flight arrangements complicated, running late. My suitcase must be packed but I don’t have time. I must go without anything but the clothes I’m wearing and let that be all right. I am going to a conference in Shanghai, I’ll present a workshop, and I have no change of clothes and that will be all right, and why not?

Sunday dinner, we used to call it, except it happened in the afternoon, at lunch time. A dear friends hosts a lovely Sunday dinner in the middle of the afternoon, and we linger at the table for hours, in conversation, laughing and lovingly teasing each other, the way a group of good old friends can and must.

When I am in the woods, this morning, I think about my post card poems, the changes I’ve made since last week. I have one or two small changes for tomorrow night, and I feel pleased to be prepared ahead of schedule. In the wetlands by the brook I get into the muck and examine the intricate beauty of the skunk cabbage as I love to do in spring.