Day Three Hundred and fifty one

Home late. "It doesn't matter," say the crickets. "Yes it does," they also say. There are so many things to be done in life. There is nothing of life I have made, but for my rare moments of attention to it.

At the shore, my sister and I found a silver dollar. It was a fish without a tail, shimmering, the same on both sides, with a bright eye. It moved its mouth for air in my hand. We said a prayer for it and set it in the water, where it would die. I considered the difficulties in sending metta; doubt, other thoughts, the spinning compass of attention, and above all, the presumed difference between fish and me. Yes, I still have my temporary rudder, but otherwise, we breathe and see together.

The eye is bright, bright as diamond waves. The heart is light, light as dawn.