ORIGINS

We took the doggies to a long and winding path. At the end it leads out to a circular field with old tractors in the middle. There is a sand pit, a large and haunting old tree that waits in the sun, and obviously lots of room. Birch trees and others surround the place, frame it. Beyond that is a large and presently vacant golf course where they can run for a bit also. Exploring all of this, the dogs have exercise for their brains and limbs and spirits. 

 

The sky was blue and the greenery on its way to coming to life. At one of the places a black butterfly with some kind of small flecks of coloring passed us.  A branch from a tree in the distance, weak and wounded perhaps from the storms of the previous days, interrupted the silence of the area as it fell away from its brothers and sisters and rolled down to rest upon the ground.

On the way back, we headed up a ridge full of growth large and small. There were feral

shrubs, crazy looking chaparral of all shapes and sizes. There was a deep valley to the right, and in many places for the shade of the trees that grew there, the sun had not yet reached and melted the snow. Where we walked the natural path was much more interesting than the manufactured and manicured paths of the suburbs. Small and large root systems carried themselves across our feet making steps and bridges. Old leaves scurried past, blown by a light wind borne from an unseen origin.

Osho said the origin of the River Ganges occurs in the astral. I don’t know anything about that. But our path, so silent but full of something unseen and beyond language, felt like it too had a secret origin…