A couple of minutes ago when I sat here to finally post something new, I thought it would be about the cancellation of our Canada trip. Seems a brother of the friends who are our hosts has decided he will be going instead. Which is fine. Really. Though I did, and do, want to visit the wild and remote wilderness lake again I'm surprisingly not upset. For some unknown reason the decision to go is out of our hands.
Scrolling through the list of my photos, looking for one to post with a planned lament about our change of plans, I found my picture of Great Serpent Mound in south central Ohio which I took a couple of years ago. The sinuous switchbacks of the earthworks is always magnetic for me. The first time we visited I ran to the incline (the one in the lower right corner), prostrated myself upon the grass skin of the mound, and melted into the serpent. This sits above a beautiful river. Looking over the edge of the bluff, the towering sycamores are beneath my feet. It is a sacred place. Sacred trees. Sacred effigy.
So, instead of trekking north and across the border, we'll be home. Touching familar earth under our feet. Working in the garden. Whatever. It's all good.
