The pastoral simplicity and patchwork beauty of the lowlands is my daily sustenance.  But in spring, the mysterious magnetism of higher paths calls me closer to the clouds. 

      

 

I abandoned all pretext of being a responsible adult and succumbed to the lure of the mountains. 

     

       I felt the cool grass of  green pastures through my moccasins.

 

 

Wizened oaks, fragrant in their spring frocks, sang of rebirth with every breeze. 

 

 

 

Brother buzzard, not to be outdone by the foliage, flaunted his colors for me in the morning sun. 

 

I sat guiltless beside a lazy lake, and dipped water from a laughing stream. 

 

 

 

After awhile, I felt healed in body and freer in spirit.  I climbed the last knoll, and meandered across a purple meadow where I could see the valley below. For that moment I knew what it was to be “in the world, but yet not of it.”

 

"Gladness seemed to inhabit these upper zones, and we had left indifference behind us in the valley ... There are days in a life when thus to climb out of the lowlands seems like scaling heaven."   Robert Louis Stevenson

 

And so remember, Streamers--

The grandest of things are achieved with a light heart:

allow your soul to smile.—Shirley Maclaine

 

I love you all  --Bupu

I'm not normally susceptible to Spring fever.  This year, however, I have all the symptoms--restlessness, inability to concentrate, daydreaming;  the smell of fresh-mown grass makes me downright frisky. 

Maybe I've just achieved enough awareness to actually notice Spring for the first time in years. 

With the wild mustard and the daffodils, and the accacias, the whole area has exploded in yellow.

Most of my wanderings are late in the day.

I find salvation in the solitude of Salt Slough...

                                                                     And the mud flats.

Even mud can be beautiful.

 

So here's to Spring.  May each of you soon find the warmth of new beginnings, beauty in the mundane, and peace in all seasons.

All my love,

Bupu