Wind Horses

I sometimes think that my whole life might be contained within the fluttering of these Tibetan prayer flags (also called the wind horse or lung-ta) out in the highlands. There they are, old and faded and frayed, doing their job cheerfully and dancing right along in the breeze.

When I returned to the village after hours in the cool autumn sunlight yesterday, I closed my eyes, and I could see the serene and tattered shapes silhouetted against the clear blue sky - I could hear their fluttering in the wind, and I remembered that their spirited movement was prayer in motion.

There are blessings printed on my prayer flags, and when the wind blows through them, it carries the blessings along with it, becoming blessed in its turn. All those who are touched by the wind in its travels are blessed too, and I wished that yesterday's brisk autumn wind could touch and bless all of us, especially my feathered migrating friends and the furry garden companions who are considering hibernation and making ready for it by consuming everything they can find.

I love this bright season of harvest and fruiting, but as the days grow shorter, winds grow colder, the leaves turn and the great geese begin their migrations southward, I am perhaps a little melancholy, or shall we say, in the grip of wabi-sabi? Whatever one calls this feeling, it is sweet, spicy and as fragrant as a Macintosh apple - sad and poignant too.