Through my window I see a porcupine clinging to the side of a maple tree, eating the ear of corn I hung with twine from a low branch earlier this afternoon.
I haven't driven my car in a week.
There is a boulder covered in green moss one half mile back into the pines where I sit and meditate each morning as the sun spills orange and yellow
from hill to horizon.
I've built a shrine from the skulls of deer and the rib bones of a black bear to remind my self each morning of which direction I am aimed.
I haven't driven my car in a week.
There is a boulder covered in green moss one half mile back into the pines where I sit and meditate each morning as the sun spills orange and yellow
from hill to horizon.
I've built a shrine from the skulls of deer and the rib bones of a black bear to remind my self each morning of which direction I am aimed.
