Friday’s scrich described how like an uncorked bottle of champagne I bounded out to walk between appointments. Yesterday’s scrich was to sit in awe as migration’s rest was suspended beyond the limits of desire. This morning a different direction and a gentle tap on the shoulder to look an see. The morning moon flying with me and playing peek-a-boo with the mountains. I would think surely she has set only to see her reappear and we both would laugh. A weekend of bookends. The pondering of the call beyond our limits of desire and holding the hand of the Sacred bounded and held by childlike exuberance and joy. I think, perchance, a most fitting metaphor for life. Sweet mercy, ain’t that grand!