. . . This morning this planet is so loud with itself—

its winds, its insects, its grackles and mourning doves—

that I can hardly hear my own lamentations. This planet.

All its grooved bark, all its sand of quartz and bones

and volcanic glass, all its creeping thistle lacing the yards

with spiny purple. I’m trying to come down soft today.

~ Excerpt from “Planet,” by Catherine Pierce

By the sea, near the rocks, in the bright sun, we sit after our long walk out to the point. My friend and I have risen early, as usual, gotten out with the sun just risen. The surfers are out, and a few walkers, like us, and birds, of course. We decide to meditate, find our comfy spot. I close my eyes into a wonderful, rippling mindful journey into breath in the rhythm of lapping surf. The last time we meditated together we were in the redwood forest north of San Francisco on a hike. My hearing, slowly but surely, has returned. My ear is not a constant discomfort and distraction. East/West medicine and the support of good friends has been quite healing. On the other side of day, this early evening, Frank and I tune into Zoom where our youngest is leading a playback theatre performance with the new troupe she established. She’s conducting it from her computer in my office! How fun to see her there. And, she conducts the show with great poise and charisma and skill. It’s pretty magical, to be able to keep my connection to home while I am here, and yet, to feel so present here, immersed here, at the same time. I send a recording to the Special One of the howler monkeys in the dark trees outside our casa in the pre-dawn light.