Season

The dark times are half over. The worst of it past. Healing and celebration have been the path for weeks now. At the riverside, in smoky rooms, and under ancient spruce trees, in the company of horses, phoebes, deer and many more unseen nature spirits the work has been wrought beautifully.

How much joy can grow in the days of light to come? How many good things have we pressed into the cold but eager earth?

Only time, the spinning earth about the sun, can tell.

Rituals Without Words

Seek the moment when life is song sung to heaven...

Today riding in a u-haul through the foothills in Medford all lives seemed to converge. A beautiful line of fog silver between the gold hills behind me and the deep blue hills beyond.

Prayers of thanks