Back now from retreat.
Return after a week away to find the city relaxed, moving step by step, unbound.
Recall the mist on the green morning hills outside my window before a first sitting. Night had been filled with fitful sleep. I drank it all, then turned to dress.
The entire week was like that: Deliciously bittersweet, arriving and moving on.
None of us will ever be there (or here) again.