This morning started windy and with fast moving clouds. When I saw the sea again for the second time, There was real roughness in the air and in the waters. Sand blew over the beach and at the low tide surfline the sea was spewing dirty looking green brown foam. In thick fat flakes all along the shore. So I got the full foul phlegm over my trousers and stinky wet shoes.
My morning exercise - dedicated partly to the Oaktree and partly to the Moon - gave me that deep singing feeling in my belly as I first did the Garbage-Thing and then started a long walk. Climbing higher up into the Hill-forest and then - from its source - following the Little Brook all the way downstream. Until I reached a dark, cold, very windy and frosty Riverside.
This morning I’m writing my short journal, sitting on ‘Sovereign Heights’, in our Humble Forest-Hut. There is a cold eastern wind blowing. But the Hut gives some shelter. And between the clouds, the sun is shining now&then. From here you have a broad & high view over the Weser-valley and a part of the snow-white town. Windflares are playing with the smoke, curling up from our chimney below. And finally, the Guardian Oaktree is standing below there, overseeing the whole scene.
This morning after the Oaktree-excercise, I went down the main road to the Weserbridge. In the Eastern sky some clouds were discernable amidst the overall darkgrey mist. I wanted to see if this would give a bit more light for a Blippable picture of the river. In vain. Another day without dawn or sunset. From there I took the Eastern riverside and followed the Little Brook up to the small waterfall. I stayed a long and breathing while listening to the splashing laughter of the falling stream.
During the morning exercise at the Pond the moon was stil visible through the bare treetops near the cemetery. It was a huge pale moon, veiled by grey cloudy strings, just like in Japanese paintings. When I meet the moon in the morning it starts to sing in my heart: “and singing I row homeward on the moon.” I don’t know why; it mused through me already a long time ago. It fell into forgetfulness and it came back during exercise at dawn in the Weser Uplands. It refers to the last strophe of Meng Haoran’s poem on The Whirlpool of Mount Wanshan. The poet sings about untraceable jewels, gifts of fairies to mankind, not to be found for the seeker. So again today I went back home singing in praise of the new morning, thanks to the old Chinese poet Haoran (689-740): “and singing I run homeward on the moon”.