I have been out walking in a couple of parks in North Norfolk these past days. The trees are skeletal in form with spring promises sprouting like fingernails. However, these trees speak of harder days; of winter winds lashing and frosty rains creeping into their fabric. Deep inside to compromise their structure. Many have, as you see in this photograph, multiple downed branches.

So, I’m out and getting about. Relaxing with fellow monastics and lay sangha. The world I meet is rich with sights and sounds, the air is soft with the approach of spring. I notice memories from previous visits to this county popping in and then out of my mind. The temptation to voice them and the wisdom to not do that juggle back and forth.

Memories are the past come into the present. It can irk to constantly recount the past yet also speaking of events held in common is affirming of long time contact. So I attempt to steer a middle path in conversations these days away and on return? The middle path, as ever with everything.

Silence is OK too.