My mind empties, deflates almost, as soon as my ears fill with the rhythm of waves lapping sand. Suddenly, nothing in there. The traffic to the shore, the concerns of work or marriage, the heat, the funny sound coming from my car, the to-do list of life…all blank.  Leaning against a log, feet bury into cool sand: what is it about the repeating tempo? Scent of beach roses, touch of breeze against skin, song birds calling. At the waters’ edge, place of mysterious depth where life on our planet was pushed forth into being…this is the place where I give my self up, effortlessly. Every time. Just happens: I empty. I am. I walk and look, see, but don’t think.

 There is color, and another. I put color in my pocket. Back on the porch, I see my meditation yields a banquette, a feast of time and weather on material.