These last two months I've immersed myself in these surroundings - the ground that used to be ocean, the large pieces of rocks moved by the shifting glaciers, the ribbons of migrating birds, the rapid weather cycles blowing through this piece of land, once an island. My body has begun to respond more easily, more fluidly to the scenery, to the sinking moss under my boots, even accepting of the heaviness, an accumulation of the short northern days in my tissue.
Today I watched the light glide across the grey surface of the bay. Beginning from the other shore, its yellow beam tracing and revealing the pleats of the water, the contours of the tiny islets, the glowing wheat color of the dried reeds, finally shining it's light to expose a rainbow. The dance of the weather so evident and moving, I found myself momentarily gasping.
But the beauty of my body's response was, that I didn't feel myself grasping at the scenery any longer. My eyes simply received what so shiftly kept changing. What a change in perceiving, as I let go of the need to hold and secure the memory of this beauty - and simply allow myself to be touched by it.