Walking Azalea Hill

There comes a time when all you want to do—all, indeed, you can do—is walk a sacred place with a friend.  This afternoon, I traveled here with dear N.H. and we walked—down around the pond, up into the color, in between the innumerable azalea bushes of Jenkins Arboretum. 

How extraordinary it was just to be and not do.  And how wonderful to have a friend like N.H., with whom I am (without pause, without hesitation) my simple, sometimes stumbling, hands-whirling-the-air-as-I-talk self.  There is such peace in that.