On the Way to William Penn House for Tuesday Night Yoga Practice
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Seen From the Bus
It’s hard to believe that I’ve only been home from India for a little over two weeks given how busy I’ve been at work. I found some time this afternoon to pick out some photos to share.
On this second trip to South India, I was even more conscious of the protective bubble in which we traveled. I am not afraid or ashamed to admit that some of the places through which the bus drove would have been a big travel challenge for me without the bus and knowledgeable, competent, supportive guides.
These photos were mostly taken on a long day’s ride that became that much longer to encompass a detour to incorporate a last minute addition to the itinerary of an older and beautiful Shiva temple (I took the photo of the jackfruit vendor I posted last week after this temple visit). The detour was one of those only 20 kilometers extra detours that turn out to add three hours to the trip because it shifted from the main road to tertiary roads–I’m sure you, like I, have done that in the mountains somewhere), and it was truly someplace else from where I am used to being.
It was hard to be on the bus for those extra hours, but it was powerfully interesting to observe. Do click on individual pictures to see detail and facial expressions and in some, of course, the signs.
Pilgrim? Or Subject of Pilgrimage?
What do we look for, what do we see, when we come looking and to see another culture?
Ice on the Potomac
A treasured friend and respected colleague who left her body late last week was buried this morning. The work year started, then, with some colleagues and I leaving the office for a portion of the middle of the day to drive up to the cemtery and offer our love to her family and our good-byes to her physical presence. On the way back to the office, I noticed that the Potomac has been icing over, which is very unusual. I also remembered that I had my camera in my pocket. So I took it out and caught the moment in honor of my friend who would have loved the way the birds were dancing on the ice, in honor of beauty, in honor of the life teeming above and below the apparently still, frozen river.
