The spider weaves her story, catching glimpses of light that I might miss if I, too, am not caught up in her web and yet my dance is not one of calm reserve.
I shove the bits and pieces of invisible silk away as the sage carries my spirit up and away and the drum evens out the tempo of my heart so that it beats in tandem with that of others who also sit in a circle around this old oak tree.
In the distance three dogs watch us, one with a blue ball in his mouth, a doggie pacifier, calming him down as the air reverberates with unusual sounds.
A woman with bells on her ankles sings to the earth and another holds an ancient Hopewell pipe unearthed from the ground nearby, a reminder of when her home was built here so many years ago.
Mocking birds sing, blue jays chatter and the wind soughs across the rough hewn hills in gusty sighs.
There is no formula for communing with either people or nature, but today is a good day.
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