I dipped my feet and hands into the creek, wiping water on my head three times, and then applied the softest swipe of the ointment to my third eye.
I sat in the yellow and green grass and relaxed. The birds were all over, many different songs and calls to play on both ears. The sun moved in and out of the clouds that refuse to offer us much needed rain. The creek did its thing, bouncing and rolling beside me. I shifted my foot and found a teeny, tiny snail. It was oozing white flesh and I gently put it back onto the damp creekside.
I spotted this yellow bird, the first I have seen this season. As soon as I took its picture, it flew away.
Another bird took up residence in the witch tree.
I counted that one as my clock. When it went away, it was time to consider going back inside. It was only warm when the sun was free of the clouds. Then, the whole landscape lit up and the grass would sigh with the caress.
I became very relaxed. I closed my eyes and sank into the peacefulness. I imagined having warm fur and slinking quietly through the shushing grass. I would have whiskers that felt the air, and sound of the bugs would tickle my ears.
This was a deep meditation. When I opened my eyes, I found that I was being watched carelessly by a muskrat.
Every time it dipped its little eyes below the water line to take a bite, I raised by camera another inch or so until I was able to take a few pictures. Once I had them, it washed its little face and swam upstream, hugging the grassy bank.
The birds continued their conversations. The complexity and diversity of each living thing within sight and ear was awe-inspiring. The budding willows looked like elaborate embroidery.
I could imagine the worlds living within each living thing as well. The micro-organisms that dwell within each bird and bug add another layer of beauty and magic. The tiny things we can’t see, like pollen and dead skin cells that float through the air, touching us and becoming part of the sea that we swim through while unaware of their dance and journey. I gave humble thanks for the experience of living and being aware.
The sound of helicopters fighting the forest fire over in Nelson permeated the birdsong. It was a reminder that only seven miles from this peaceful symphony, a battle was being waged. I stepped into the creek to perform an ending ablution. As I headed back inside, I saw the Flathead Hotshot trucks drive past. I prayed for their safety and success.