1. I sit in the loft to write in the evening light. He pads around the kitchen making us a meal. The slow, meandering goodness that is love.

2. Michael Waters, a guitar genius, says, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is I now know how to reach Source through music. The bad news is I don’t know how to do it in less than 35 years.”

3. Winding up and then down, around cedars and over creeks, through berry patches and over moss mounds we go. Every path into town wishes it was this lush.

4. The protection of the forest, now an amphitheater for fat raindrops.

5. We find a sculpture garden beyond an inviting gate between the trees. The first installation is a giant boulder invisibly suspended from a giant cedar, called Faith. The second installation is also a boulder suspended,  this time by a neurotic bondage of ropes, called Lack of Faith.

6. Spiraling ridges of cedar bark, berry boughs heavy with wet, the earth’s sweet perfume after rain, the lone call of a songbird.

7. Slowing down to notice the miracle of presence.

8. When we arrive home, there are two tiny fawns grazing outside our cabin, gentling across the drive.