It was a spectacular morning to be outdoors. Intoxicating and nourishing, the warm air and the layer of clouds and the scent of everything wet from a night of rain. My daughter was up early, and she agreed she’d like to join me on the river for a kayak. So, I walked Charlie to the railroad tracks and back. He tromped through the ferns on the river’s edge. I bent to see the milkweed by the tracks and saw the bumps of first blossoms. He was satisfied enough. We left the dogs indoors and snuck out, crossed the meadow, set off in our kayaks on the glassy surface of the windless river. Only sounds, birdsong. There is a gorgeousness beyond compare on the Charles in summer foliage. When you skim and drift into the tree canopy and, surrounded by the purity of stillness, begin to feel you are also tree. The green leaves over your head, and you’re seated, floating on the trees fabulous reflection on the river. You are more tree than human in those moments. All the baby beaver crossing here and there in front of us, busy in their morning duties: learning to build A white tailed deer sprang across the green grass meadow. A heron, great blue, perched and solemn. Then, lifting off. Another nesting, mostly hidden in the marsh grass. The noisy red wing blackbirds back and forth, and some goldfinches fluttering around. I saw yellow in the grassy edge and knew: the yellow flag irises in bloom, little patches of their glorious beam of color. We stopped at the river’s edge so my daughter could dive in and float, weightless and serene. And then, we found a painted turtle, a delightful sight: sunning itself on a log, balanced on its belly, all four feet lifting into the air as if in a yoga pose. A spiritual pose. This turtle reaching a higher plane, and showing one to me. As we pulled to shore and disembarked we waded through mud to pull our kayaks up to our landing and a vine caught my foot, down I splashed into the black mud. So, earthy, I went off into the woods to dig up some fantastic ferns to transplant. My daughter and husband joined me in what we’re calling the meditation garden. I planted the ferns and more perennials in the hot sun; my daughter weeded, my husband built me a small fence and bench made of a log. Then I washed the earth and mud and sweat off, to rest, to be glad, to be grateful for this day. And mostly, the painted turtle, full of spirit.