Flowing

Can you see the real me? She is somewhere here in this image of clear icy flowing water with its reflected blue sky, and she is smiling.

All it takes is the caress of Helios on one's shoulders and a little wild alchemy, a few hours when the temperatures are in the low minuses for a change rather than the abysmal minuses, a huddle of old sun kissed stones on a Lanark hill somewhere beyond the wind.

One morning you go out to the woods in February, and you hear the sound of water flowing merrily nearby. The sound tugs at you, and you follow it; you find the hidden hillside with its dancing rivulet sparkling under the blue sky, and you just sit there on a rock in the sunshine watching the water coo and flow. You could not, you simply could not - be happier than you are in this moment and place. Mindful, at peace and completely dissolved into hillside and stream before your eyes, you could sit there forever.