The waves roll in. The waves roll out. They come back to begin again. It is a dance that began long before the first creatures crawled out of the ancient waters to breathe upon dry land for the first time. This revolutionary act sparked a new dawn, a new way of life. These primordial creatures set us on a path that cleared the way for us today. Each tide, each breath is its own cycle. And today, just as the ancient ones breathing their first breath to spark new life, we too, must forge our own way forward, reaching the dreams of our own shoreline.
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Moments In Time
It was an early mid-September morning, and we were already out. The light was shining, but the sun still hid behind the Catskill mountains. While the car climbed up the winding roads, the temperature kept falling. I should not have been surprised by that, but I was. Sometimes the anticipation gets the best of me, and this was one of those times. Maybe I should have expected that too. I wanted to come to this area for quite a while and now it was happening. The land held such a presence in its wild beauty. It was an old presence that would watch and wait. At times I felt like a mouse running from rock to leaf pile trying not to ruffle the feathers of the hungry hawk in the trees. Other times, I felt I was being embraced by a long-lost friend inviting me to sit for tea. At night, I would dream dreams of sorrow and joy, ghosts familiar and unknown, and of conversations that held deep meaning yet faded quickly upon waking. It was such an interesting place. We were wandering through the lands of Rip Van Winkle after all. It was a land that was certainly held in a time without time.
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The Whispering Crow 