The deep silence of no words. I allow myself to fall into the well of it, with these others, companions on the journey.
Outside, the deep silence is the tumultuous hum of the earth with its many inhabitants here in this tranquil woodland garden; the air with its congregations of bird-voice; the rushy songs of millpond and leat, their registers and octaves. Wind whips and snaps the prayer-flags strung across the terrace – they belly and billow like sails, on the verge of leaving.
On top of Meldon, shouldering cloud, a single sheep, like an unpenned thought.
At supper tonight below on the moonstruck millpond a single wild goose called the deeps over and over until the water answered with another.
These days I offer purchase to ivy / allow ladybirds to nest / in the cracks of my bark. / The wren's song / is also home
I am clad in the world / it lets me wear its technicolour selves / until we are all unselfed...