We Called it Going to Church

Crescent Beach has been the subject of this blog several times before. It is amazing that all one has to do is walk just a little bit further and in this crowded city, one can sit on one’s own.



Both eagles and loons were heard but the heron was the bird of the day. There were several of them watching walkers from rocks just in the water. The tide was in all the way. I love the call they make when they take off and fly – kind of like a rusty gate creaking open, a complaintive sound.


A recent finished object, well objects. Gotland mittens, hand spun. You can still smell and feel the lanolin in these despite several very hot washes. They should prove warm.

And a bit of weaving from a warp over a year old. Just to get it off the loom I used up scraps of sock yarn in a twill of some sort. It came out better than expected, it should work up as a couple of bags I think.


A Small Trace Left Behind

Many years ago, maybe fifteen, we did a several day backpack in the Stein. One night as we slept in this sacred place I had a vivid dream. Despite the constant roar of the river soft footsteps were heard, with a person, very, very old coming to stand silently outside our tent. It wasn’t frightening, but there was a sense of deep age. The person was dressed in the old way. As this person(being) stood silently a rain of pine needles began to fall on the inside of the tent. I still can recall the whispering sound as they fell, eventually covering us and the bottom of the tent, softly.

It may have been something to do with the asking of permission as we entered the valley, I am not sure.

Buddhism would likely be considered “new” by the standards of this place. One does not want to impose.


This tiny statue, maybe an inch tall sits in a particular place here. It overlooks the river and the steep canyons. It watches over the myriad beings who rest here.