Rainy day outside, a good day to sit around and talk or read a book or listen to music. I think all days can be good only if we can discover the rythms that play out with changing weather. Nature follows that pattern, I am reminded of this fact I see chipmunks gathering nuts for the winter and spend that hibernating.

We have grown so distant and seperated from these that we have lost our sense of balance. We do everything in excess: over work, over consume and over dose. And with such growing distance from what is truely good and truely enduring, I think we even forget what is good. This seperation from nature I think has something to do with seperation from our own stillness.

Once not too long ago, I was on a high moutain lake, with a woman. The stillness of the blue water, with tree tops reflected in it and the sun striking the lake angularly, everything seemed to have stopped, a frozen crystal of time. Even though all the roads between us are now boarded up, such memories offer me a measure of peace, instead of the usual unease or pain. It's as if the whole universe once in a while conspires to give us certain moments that approach infinities, only few but neverthless precious.

And when I pass my fingers gently over all such old memories that seem to be frozen within me, I see that in each of those moments I was alinged with the breathing of nature. I only wish for a few more of such visions, such fantastic dreamscapes in all the days: rainy, sunny and snowy that I still have to walk in and out of.