Somewhere off in the hedgerow a bird whistles in a long slow whooo.

Like some kind of morning owl or loon. Its song hangs effortlessly in the cool September morning with me like an old friend.

My mind quiets to fully listen. To the loon owl’s morning yarn. To the leaves skittering at my feet. To this land gently humming along in summer’s passing.

How fortuitous of me to have a seat at nature’s table. To be held in such regard that it continues on with its morning routine, naked and yawning before me.

Trust I will not interfere and rather will play my small part as needed, when needed.

A thick orange haze emerges from its mountainside slumber, rising higher it seems with every breath.

Its warmth settles in, enveloping the cool in its gentle embrace.

Summer ain’t gone just yet. And my mind tries to talk of less important things.

Sssshhh. Quiet’n down now.. The land is teaching me the order of things…

Reminding me the delicate dance of rising and opening, of trust through the seasons…

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