Ascetics

It is a cold, dark  February night, as the first purple light of dawn illuminates the sky. Hidden in a tall spruce tree a barred owl calls to her mate. The dawn chorus won’t begin for another hour. Seated below the tree silently weaving a basket, with ears attuned to every sound, unshaken by the cold, is the poised Practitioner of the Ascetic Pathway. They are in their happy place… the liminal space between night and dawn, winter and spring. Their awareness and silence are unparalleled, their empathy supernatural.