Spent a couple days listening to the trees and the river rocks deep in the Cascades.  They are all such Taoists.  Talk little and say much.

There are rough rocks yet to be polished.  At peace with their edges.  White with dry sand in the sun, washed up to a shoal in the middle of the constantly changing stream.  The inevitable season will move them.  No preparation necessary.

White bone dry mother tree, roots twisted and shattered frozen in the sky, resting for years where she was left by the water now host infant pine trees playing piggyback.  Seeds to root to sprout to green to move to change to rest and fertilize the earth again.

I return with a resounding chant pounding through my heart: I am the Way, the Truth, the Light.  I claim the warmth of Her Light and renew my vow to channel this Light to shine along the Way.