The wind on the waves

There was wood there by the road, the road that passes by the most sacred of lakes. The wind blew the water into waves of sringara, passionate waves. I could feel the chill coming off of mountain lake water. I thought of my teacher. Dark waters run deep, but this water sparkles and shines well into the depths as if the light of the devata prefer this place above all others. The sun danced over the surface and onto my skin as the wind blew its wildness into my hair. Ahh Vayu, are you happy with me today? Or is the whole world your happy playground and I just happen to be standing in it? I will drink your passion in regardless. I am intoxicated by this place. I have a hard time leaving.

Then as I turn to go I see a loon bobbing on the boisterous water. The first loon of the season. I hope its mate is nearby. I hope I will soon see them with offspring. I wonder how they could find enough peace in this lake and I wish I could ban the motor boats. That would probably be much harder than the people trying to ban our clothing optional beach year after year. I long to stay here to live in the sweetness of this powerful place. I feel the currents of grace swirling in multitudinous harmony like an orchestra hanging on the air, displaying itself in the beauty of peripheral waterfalls crashing down the mountainside. The brash and bold side, where I now stand, but I know there is a shanta cove across the way where the paths weave around intertwining with cedar trees that offer shade and privacy to the discreet bather who favors the quiet corner over the sand strewn beaches and rocky inlets.