Day Three Hundred and three

It is the longest day of the year. I hear many voices. The treetops have been filled with fireflies. My skin is warm from yesterday's sun.

I sit at Sangha with my breathing. I collect myself to watch it. I feel my attention defining myself, but I stay with the breathing and attention is bare, like a seagull breaking free of a strong wind.

Later, I touch the stone and a tidal wave of colored calliopes goes rushing back out to sea.