Noticing the details of God’s gift is a gift to God.

The depth of detail leads to the point of nothingness.

God gives a gift. I return the gift by looking deeply. And both God and I know the endpoint is nothingness. We also know it is a starting point.

Fire-sculpted trees look like Native American artworks: Dark silence dancing.

I may have a solid home but I look around. Light, sky, and everything in nature is changing. Ice forms and cracks form in the ice. It is clear that my house and body-mind are also changing.

Nothing can be taken seriously for in an instant it is gone.

I can only “be” and “do”. How can I not “be” or “do”?

I can’t “be” seriously as “being” transcends seriousness. However, I can “do” seriously, such as my job and the honouring of commitments. I just don’t have to take anything seriously.

“Dispersed camping is the term used for camping anywhere in the National Forest outside of a designated campground.” [Source: https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/Reference/Profile/2202804]

To coin a term, “dispersed living,” means living outside generally accepted or “designated” social guidelines. Since those guidelines are sometimes vague and since some are tied to laws nobody wants to break, it’s nearly impossible to live a fully dispersed life.

However, dispersed living could at least be considered a monkish life.

From Ecclesiastical Greek monakhos “monk,” noun use of a classical Greek adjective meaning “solitary,” from monos “alone” (from PIE root *men- (4) “small, isolated”). [Source: https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=monk]

Dispersed living is rarely fully alone. There will always be someone else’s footprints: those of another monk.

I’m nomadic. The road I prefer is a short one. Why? Because nature itself is nomadic.

I take a seat on the side of the road and watch, notice, remember and record the varieties of clouds, weather, wind, and light as they wander by, parading along. There’s not much else I have to do in my way of nomad life. I let nature do the hard work.