Silence is perhaps the most critical aspect of spiritual development, at least for me. At home, as dusk approaches, I soak up the silence. Its function is not to cut me off from the rest of the world but to enable me to listen to what is happening inside of myself. There is very little that is silent about silence. I can discover the noise that keeps me from being the human I want to be.

All our happy and spirited dogs are asleep scattered throughout the house.  They are still when I work.

Zinnia, as always, is sleeping at my feet. Maria is away at her belly dancing class. She worries about my dizzy spells and insists on calling me every half hour or so to ensure I haven’t fallen again.

I love these quiet evenings; I sit silently with tea and eat some cashews. After this, I’ll turn off the computer and return to my P.D. James mystery.  I’ll do some spiritual reading.

I went outside (broke the rules) to see the dogs and take photos of the animals grazing. Maria is bringing some fresh sushi from Bennington, Vt., for our dinners. We’ll go to bed early. I hope to sleep tonight.

On the way, two flowers caught my eye. Some Zinnias were transplanted from my garden to Maria’s, and new rose buds blossomed after the rain. I still get dizzy, but I’m getting stronger by the day. I went to the dentist today, and my teeth are fine.

The pain in the side of my face is from the fall.

The dogs watched me as I walked out into the pasture to photograph the grazing sheep. I miss Maria, but I love having the farm to myself for a few hours; it brings me back to my first years on the first Bedlam Farm. I lived alone there for six years and was often lonely. But I did love the silence. Maria brought me back into the world.

The brooding sky struck me.

The flowers are refreshing, especially the buds opening after another rain storm. Some flowers succumb, others grow. Judy’s page has some more autumn flowers for me; I’ll get them on Friday.

My blue sky appeared at dusk, beautiful timing.

I stopped in to say goodbye to Zip.