How can I tell you about the beauty of my creek?
How can I tell you about the magic that is happening there every minute of the day and night? The mandalas that appear before my eyes, the patterns made of light and wind, water and tree? How, when two circles of ripples meet, diamond shapes appear in the flow, for a moment?
The summer sun makes a mosaic on the watery surface. Is this how mad people and mystics see the world? Broken down into bits, ever shifting with light and shadow? The reflection on the underside of leaves, the mesmerizing pulse of the water visible in the trees above; even a moving picture could not capture it. It is best seen in the middle distance with eyes half closed.
The wheel of the year swings on the hinge of Lammas into the autumn quarter of the year. Summer wanes, becoming all the sweeter with each new slant of light telling the turn. A time of reflection, all ways. Sweet Lammas wishes to all.