#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Tree Bark

I went into the Sunday morning walk without enthusiasm to be wet and cold. I felt resistance, boredom with the woods and my walks in the landscape that began to be spring and then halted with snow, now melting. So, I breathed into my resistance and grew quieter, walked more slowly. I let go of my resistance and my frustration and just tuned in. What could be here to be seen of interest to me? What can I find that is beautiful and mysterious? My whole body and spirit and mind dropped into this question. So I saw the chunk of old tree, this design in the wet bark. This, this moves me, I thought. And I knelt down, and then I had no desire to be anywhere else but here and now, in this color and substance and texture and accident of design, made like black ink onto the easel of old bark dampened by spring snow. I kept going into the peace and interest in the morning woods, finding my way. A golden wet old fern curled into a question mark. A new leaf lit by sunshine. A droplet of water on a branch holding a world I cannot discern, but I want to. All this charmed me and more. It’s Sunday morning in the sanctuary. My spirit renewed.