Innocent dreams and
long straight open highways
lead us to forever.

This week’s installment of Russell and Hannas’ adventures. Read the whole book by going to http://www.amazon.com/author/edwardlehner

We continued walking and reminiscing about growing up, me on a farm and her in town, one of two children of a father who was college professor and a mother, a writer. I was so engrossed in talking with Rebecca, I lost track of time.  She taught middle school in Missoula and worked here at the Park during summers. We were the same age and had crossed paths many times in our early years. Finally Rebecca broke our conversation needing to check on the rest of the group. Everyone was doing fine except for Hanna who was glaring at me.

I fell back alongside her. “So how’re you doing?”

“Fine! Just fine!” she replied tersely.

“You’re acting strange. What’s bothering you?” I asked.

“Nothing!”

I walked along beside her, neither one of us talking. I was wondering what was going on with her. Was she irritated that I was talking with Rebecca? But her aloofness had begun yesterday. 

I said, after a while, “I’m sorry for whatever I did because I must have done something to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“Fine! Why don’t you go on and walk with your new friend?”

Backed up Phoenix traffic.
Snowstorm on the Mogollon Plateau.
Goddess Siri led us through.

The mystic muse 
plays hide and seek .
Hear her laughing.

I want to start off with a little note today. First thank you to all who have looked and/or like my short thoughts for these 96 days. One thing I have learned from this practice is to pay even more attention to the many small things that come across my path on my daily journey, to give them recognition and attempt to discern some meaning with the fewest amount of words in three simple lines. And this all fits so well with the Buddhist philosophy I follow.

Some have definitely worked better than others but it’s all the same anyway.

Now I am debating whether to continue after 100. Probably will.

After a year of being locally confined, getting down here to Mexico has been a stimulus to my brain. Here’s number 96.

Footprints in sand.
Tomorrow, gone with the tide.
Everything disappears.