a holy place found in a field of wheat rippling in the evening breeze
across the hills like stained glass where the meadowlark darting from the waving grasses, sinks into the cool water of the ditch to drink, then flutters to the fence post where she sings hymns of praise with the owl and hawk circling high overhead. deer raise their heads from foraging the cut wheat fields and we are witness to the clouds in the east, the moon hanging luminous overhead... and in the cool dampness, a field of fragrant mint tumbling and soothing to the eye and the heart. I see his shoulders broad and strong, relax now and his head raise up to the sky. here is where he goes to give thanks, to be immersed in reverie with this beautiful place and meet once again with his wise old friend.