I walked through the mountains today, followed the path that followed a dried river bed (a breadcrumb trail of rocks) and I came to a mossy clearing in the woods. I lay myself down. I stretched out on the damp, green sponge in the sun, and sunk into the moment, the time, which was as round and full as an old moon. And words fell away, or perhaps they joined together, and floated up like a balloon, saying only and repeating that, nothing else is needed here.
