Shanti

Early morning at the ashram before breakfast.  No logging trucks are allowed in here and the pines that border the hilltop are immense old souls.

Phones are limited in use to the road between the residential building and the sacred fire pit where there is cell reception marked by one bar on the phone.

The dogwood trees are about one week closer to blooming than those at home.  On one side of the hill a newly dug trench extends as far as the eye can see. Rumor has it that a new septic system is being installed.

I looked the other way, where the mist in the valleys hugged the cooler air and watered the orchards.  I am heading home today, through the traffic corridors of Connecticut and the car wars of the Mass Pike, thinking about stillness.