From all of me to all of you!
The moon... was it full last night?
On the way home from a wonderful Mexican dinner the moon hung still in the windless night. It shone brightly just above the canyon walls, reflecting on the river like the cover on the sheet music from "Moon River".
We drove home slowly, past the glassy bay in Garibaldi, I, thinking of our boat, cutting a smooth wake through it that very day.
Down Kilchis river road, we made our way through the new grasses and overhanging brush, creating the ever shrinking pathway that leads us home. The roadside grasses waved as we past, our car causing the only movement in the air.
We watched for deer, raccoon, wildlife of any kind, but the forest was still and eerily vacant. Not but a moth glowing in the headlights.
As I got out of the car I listened. Silence. It fed my need for sleep.
I rose this morning to the opportunity to fish the Trask. From Cedar Creek down, it would be a long day on the river. I chose instead to stay home. I need more of this stillness, this silence.
Except for the 14 pair of Goldfinch that are fluttering near my feeder, except for the posturing of two male hummingbirds, the view outside is picture perfect, calm and still.
Not a breeze whispers through the trees that stand as tall and undisturbed as if captured on film. An eagle soars over the treetops with no wind resistance, his flight smooth and unchallenged.
Except for the slightest gurgle of movement, the water in the river that moves ever downstream seems muted today. Softened and slow.
Writing has been difficult for me lately, with the rush of life's challenges, the chaos of the wind in my brain, trying to keep up with deadlines that wreak havoc and force destructive storm waves, decision and action.
A few social conflicts weigh heavy on my soul, searching for conclusions, searching for peace, hoping for stillness, closure and healing.
The time has come for me to stop and listen.
Time to pour another cup of hot coffee, head out to the picnic table and absorb yet more of this stillness.
With the warmth of the sun on my back, I have a prayer for you and I, and for everyone in the world:
May our souls learn the ability to reflect the same stillness as the moon on the bay. May we be as strong and as proud as the trees that stand green and alive, yet unruffled, with no resentment of the raging storms that have tested them through the years.
My hope lies in the promise that there will be days that we can glide through the air like an eagle, with no wind resistance to flight. To be assured of havens of shelter in our lives, when the need arise.
And on a lighter note, that we will fly for miles, yet will all light upon a place as full of bird feeders as the prolific 19 feeders I find around this canyon meadow! [img]images/icons/smile.gif[/img]
I could have fished today... I just felt like any excitement, (like the overwhelming rush of a spring chinook on my line!) would interrupt my need to stop and listen today. The world is so beautiful!
I could have fished today... It's not like me to say no! To say no to hunt for that beautiful, strong creature that is making it's way up our coastal rivers?
They are called home. Today it's not in me to stop them.
You know, a springer could be right out back of the house, (right now!), making it's way through those calm, low waters!
I wonder if I sit still enough, for long enough... and if I listen hard enough... Will I hear it's journey?
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The goal in Life's Journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "whooo hoooo (!) what a ride!"
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On a mission
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