Sunlight filtered through pine branches and an empty bird feeder.

Because I practice martial arts in the morning, I have a friendship with dawning light. The sun’s position shifts day by day, creates pleats along the arc of a hand-held fan. The sun floats up from horizon to sky, strikes a new path in the yard.

This morning everything was achingly beautiful. I felt weak, first day out after a nasty cold, but weak felt like a good response to aching beauty so I wasn’t hard on myself. I carried my boh, had no rule but to be out there with the boh.

I rolled it around my waist.

The light shot through trees along the fenceline of the pasture, turned moisture-burdened air into pink-lit clouds rolling on the field. I heard a distant train whistle, and a blue jay squeak like an un-oiled gate. A helicopter and cars. I stood in an oak's shadow that melded seamlessly with the oak. The air had a poignant smell of brown leaves on the ground and dew on pine needles.

Nothing amazing happened in that my energy didn’t suddenly rebound. I didn't run, didn't throw the boh into the air.

To feel good and happy, though. I forget. That's the point.