Each day, I rise before the sun. The stars greet me as I step outside; few in summer, many in winter. Sometimes clouds cover them, filled with soft rain or quiet snow. Sounds sharpen in autumn, deaden in winter, brighten in spring, grow richer in summer. The wind carries keen fresh air from the mountain's heights down through the valley.
I walk, finding a rhythm for moving meditation. Few people wake so early - often I am alone. In the near-silence I find peace to carry me through the day.
As the sun rises, the mountains show me their mood. Now, with autumn falling quickly into winter, they are nestling down to sleep, solemn and barren of life. They are ready to rest under blankets of snow that deepen as the days grow shorter.
After morning tasks are done, I look out my front door, startled by color - the leaves are brighter than gold, one last defiant display before they rejoin the earth that nourished them through the long, hot days of summer.
The garden withers, first frosts now touching spent leaves. Its abundance has taught me again the law of the harvest. Short winter days will be enlivened by honey-colored peaches; red, orange, and yellow tomatoes - plain and in soup and sauce; jellies, jams, and preserves of various rainbow shades; clear garnet grape juice. I live richly, surrounded by wonders. How can I be ungrateful when I have been given so much?
Each day I pray: Let me not forget the multitude of blessings that have been showered down upon me. Help me remember the moments of perfect stillness, the awe that comes in looking to the endlessly changing sky or taking in the vast complexity of the smallest blade of grass. Find me words to contain the overflowing joy that seems inexpressible, and I will try in my imperfect way to explain perfection.
May I walk in beauty, and share that vision with those who walk around me.
