Rain can spoil an archer’s day, while conspiring with a writer’s muse. Such was tournament day. Decisions taken, plans made, grounds prepared, practice and practice on the Archer’s Green, as our intentions, like raised flags, came into sharp relief. But rhythms more comprehensive than these prevail––sometimes dramatically––and so the geometry of one possibility, with all the effort to bring it forth, dissolves. Disappointed, we’re humbly dismissed from the stage, hopefully with a measure of gratitude.
In dreamtime last night, I was with an archery student beside a stream pool. I began to remove egg-blue stones from my quiver, preparing to place them into the water. I paused while we considered how she could take them home to incubate, but it seemed untimely. So into the pool the blue egg-stones returned.
“Not only is there an alchemy of sacrifice, there’s also an alchemy of gratitude.”