A discombobulated day. A longed for day of rest and yet no rhythm could be found. Weather said no to walking. Its no contained a maybe I didn’t see. And now the coffee pot has whispered the coffee is brewed and a mandala coloring book sits waiting for my return along with a new pack of colored pencils. I glance over at the twins and smile. Can my hands actually stay in the intricate lines? Can my eyes offer any help at all?

The smile becomes a gentle soft chuckle. Does it matter? The uncolored mandala image may look daunting like the image of the mountains. Without a touch of color, though, neither one is stark. The footprints I leave upon both are mine and not to be compared to another’s. Just a little hobbit going for a walk. A dry mesa mountain image taken during the drought. An uncolored mandala with lines that dance.  The rhythm is in the doing not the outcome. The beauty is in the reality of the image not what is captured. Stillness, without judgement, is the peace.

“Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it towards others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will be in our troubled world” ~ from Etty Hillesum’s diary, a young Jewish woman, awaiting her fate as the Jews were being impounded.