every molecule of water

Faint splash of October sun pastel on the flagstones, on the weeds. A moment to dwell, under the oak tree, long tailed tits swimming over my head from apple tree to willow. The bryony berries are ruby-red.

This dawn's owls were joined by a cronking raven, very close by.

The hornets are swarming near the front door. This doesn't feel quite as manageable – especially with a dog who even though she can't properly close her jaws has not been deterred from snapping at buzzing things – as when they're one by one going about their business. But my vows are to try not to harm sentient beings, as much as possible – so I try to reframe my attitude to so-called pests, recognise their place in the order of things. Hmmm. There are times when it's challenging – like at night when the courtyard becomes a sluggy rave, with scores of huge fat slimy black and brown ones, heading for the veg patch. But I know we've at least one toad who'll be feasting, and the thrushes are back from migration, as long as they wake up early enough to do the business (also helping the slugs out with the windfall apples – those we haven't had time to get to first).

Priceless moments, here in the autumn sun. The Dalai Lama points to our crazy human condition – we work like mad to raise money, and make ourselves ill worrying about not having enough, then we spend it on making ourselves better from illness caused by the stress of overwork. How did I, choosing to step sideways from that cliché, the rat race, get so sucked in to a life in which, though I know how essential silence and stillness are, I find so few moments in which to really dwell, freewheel, do a Thoreau? I deliberately removed myself from a life that was chained simply to the need to earn money, but it is so hard to escape 'the system', especially when you work all the hours there are for less than the minimum wage – and have less time than someone on a decent salary. I guess perhaps this is the price one pays doing work one truly loves, feels one is here for; when one insists on structuring one's own working life rather than having it dictated; and where one chooses meaning over material security.

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Each life is precious, and each life will in the end be dissolved.

The dog sips teaspoon by teaspoon. In a book on sacred geometry I read this morning that every molecule of water is a corner of a pentagon.

Five is the number too of Venus.

And three: self, other and the relationship between.

at the crossroads

three hare                    my mind

leaping in all directions