Friday, January 31, 2014
🚀 yoga with Nick
The Last Thursday
Last Wednesday
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Yoga
Our Last Tuesday
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Circles: Tuesday yoga poem
stepping, slowly, around the edge of the
pond. He is tall and shining. His wings, folded
against his body, fit so neatly they
make of him, when he lifts his shoulders and begins to rise
into the air, a great surprise. Also
he carries so light the terrible sword-beak. Then
he is gone over the trees.
I am so happy to be alive in this world
I would like to live forever, but I am
content not to. Seeing what I have seen
has filled me; believing what I believe
has filled me.
The first words of this page are
hardly thought of when the bird
circles back over the trees; it floats down
like an armful of blue flowers, a bundle of light
coming to refresh itself again in the black water, and I think:
maybe it is or it isn't the same bird-maybe it's
the first one's child, or the child of its child.
What I mean is, our deliverance from Time
and the continuance, if we only steward them well,
of earthly things. So maybe it's myself still standing here, or
someone else, like myself hot with the joy of this world, and
filled with praise.
The Last Monday
Monday, January 27, 2014
Sunday
Sunday Night with Nick
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Saturday
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Friday
Friday, January 24, 2014
Thursday
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Super Swell Wednesday

Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Tuesday
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
What's your Dog do?
Monday

Mind Wanting More
My favorite moment of the first day involved Albatross, sailing through the air like calligraphy, at sunset. Thin lines as wide as eagle's wings, lazily moving upon air currents beyond our Cliffs.
Which reminded me of this poem:
Only a beige slat of sun
above the horizon, like a shade pulled
not quite down. Otherwise,
clouds. Sea rippled here and
there. Birds reluctant to fly.
The mind wants a shaft of sun to
stir the grey porridge of clouds,
an osprey to stitch sea to sky
with its barred wings, some dramatic
music: a symphony, perhaps
a Chinese gong.
But the mind always
wants more than it has –
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; one
more chance for the heart in hiding
to emerge from its thicket
in dried grasses — as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren’t enough,
as if joy weren’t strewn all around.
[Poem by Holly Hughes, sent to me by Lisa Murray.]Only a beige slat of sun
above the horizon, like a shade pulled
not quite down. Otherwise,
clouds. Sea rippled here and
there. Birds reluctant to fly.
The mind wants a shaft of sun to
stir the grey porridge of clouds,
an osprey to stitch sea to sky
with its barred wings, some dramatic
music: a symphony, perhaps
a Chinese gong.
But the mind always
wants more than it has –
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; one
more chance for the heart in hiding
to emerge from its thicket
in dried grasses — as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren’t enough,
as if joy weren’t strewn all around.
[Poem by Holly Hughes, sent to me by Lisa Murray.]
Monday, January 20, 2014
Long Day Home
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Spa Day
Pilgrim get the Green Light
AQS Staff