"For the time being the highest peak, for the time being the deepest ocean, for the time being a crazy mind, for the time being a Buddha body, for the time being a Zen Master, for the time being an ordinary person, for the time being earth and sky...since there is nothing but this moment, for the time being is all the time there is." Zen Master Dogen Out of the door on to the soft, cushioned lawn, sunlit in yellow and green zebra stripes, apples crunch underfoot. On to the pavement, a short stretch, greeting the neighbor while dog stops for a sniff. Through the autumnal leaf bed, floaty, crackling, a fiery colored bunch. A pinch of nauseating trashcan stench, the asphalt bleeds into gravel, no sooner healing to a pine-needle strewn dirt path. A side track, inviting, to the right, into the thick ferns and shadowy forest, then to the left, narrower, rockier, steeper. Up, out of the pulsating penumbra, into the waning evening light, pawing away at the craggy rock. Plush moss, water oozing from its pores, mixed with dry long grass, reminder of a hot summer. On to the summit, across smooth stone, wispy cloud scapes dance in gusts around its flank, like the souls of people who used to call Pq’als home. Time not to go too far nor too high. Time for contemplation. Time for thankfulness.