Contemplation

That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.

Edgar Allan Poe

For a long time this morning, I contemplated this shepherd, who stood quietly contemplating his flock. I wondered what he was thinking. I see him often in the fields around us. He never rushes about, hustling his charges to and fro. He moves as they move, step by step. He seems to patiently wait while they nourish themselves. His attention is always on his sheep. He seems unaware or unconcerned about what is happening beyond their midst. Watching him, I realized a sense of calm.


A while later, I watched a White Stork soar on the thermal air currents. The winds were strong and full of sand, but she didn't fight against the current; she rose with it.


Then my attention turned to my stomach. I'm afraid that my contemplation of my roast beef sandwich was very brief. Leftover beef combined with melted Gruyere cheese and caramelized onions on garlic toast . . . food for the soul!


Finally, on a more earthly level, I contemplated measurements of the new wardrobes at the carpenter's workshop, then negotiated the price of painting them in an alley from the back of a motorcycle. It would have been a surreal experience if I wasn't in Luxor.

And finally, before sleep, I commit to memory the images of a cool forest wet with spring rain, and a cascading creek where the Time Traveller now roams. I will have the sweetest of dreams.