Yesterday at Muir Woods National Monument, along Fern Creek, it was like standing down a well, the moist, leaf-littered earth beneath my feet, the light so dim among the tree giants. I looked straight up (and up and up and up) a stand of Douglas firs. A vertical tunnel of tree trunks—I never saw anything reach so high. At the very top, a small bowl of blue sky, a branch sparked with light.

Today, with others, I practiced Shintaido winter sword.

Trees, trees, trees.

People, people, people.

I see again and again:

the vertical tunnel of trees, the little bowl of blue…

In class, we

raise the sword.

Look to sky.

Tenso.

Look to earth.

Tenso.

Look to each other.

Tenso.

Little bowl of blue.