the Sacred River calls ilg toward lullaby…half-naked i trek toward her, flyrod in hand, tiptoeing toward my Beloved like a secret lover appearing as the sun washes away.  inwardly i pray;  may ilg not catch anything save for the Go(o)dness which is my River Sister, as sacred to ilg as is the Ganges to millions…a slight rain patterns the ripples in distinct, provoking droplets like the random thoughts which puddle my meditations…Blessed be your Practice…Go(o)dnight my Friends along the Way…


pic by ilg

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