The Moon’s Crest
The moon’s crest was above and, as twilight snuck in, a gorgeous world opened up to us on
Snowhill Road. It
was a realm of rain-cleared air, serenity, and colors of all kinds. The sky was
a blue blue, not tainted by urban air in anyway. Trees, some tall and some
small, graced each side of the pavement, blessing us with shade and shielding
us from wind. And you can capture with your eyes, as I did, fleeting deer,
squirrels, porcupines, and wild turkeys. There was also a migration of these
intensely orange salamanders.
I was with Vivasvan, my support guy, when we noticed a tiny one an inch and a half in length making his way across the road. I wanted to come down to his humble level in an attempt to stroke him gently on his back. I poised myself for this but heard a car coming. I rose and saw it was actually a van hauling a residential vehicle. It came closer and I feared for the young crawling fellow’s life. We could do nothing. The wheels of the van missed him but the wheels of the trailer did not. I looked in horror at his head getting crushed…. Ohhhhh!
Harsh is nature. Fragile is the self. Relentless are the machines. Callous is man. Helpless is the individual.
Those were our emotions or reactions over the mini drama. However, we had to carry on walking. The day was warm in terms of what the coming hours offered but I was also a trite disappointed over the motorists' indifference. Not one person stopped to talk. Experience tells that that will change tomorrow. Let’s see.
We were thrilled to be hosted in the home of Rupa Vilas, AKA Richard Mason, who was a major mentor for me when I decided to go the way of the monk back in ’73 at the
I’m indebted to him deeply. Toronto
May the Source be with you!
23 miles / 37 km
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