Beyond the caf terrace, the surface of the harbour is a calm and solemn gray. The storm, which has just passed, has taken away the light as well as the rain so that everything is now subdued, except for the small birds. And even though your mood tends towards the melancholic, you can t help but smile to yourself, knowing that you can never be completely alone when in the company of sparrows. The shadows of trees soften, with crescent shapes swirling like bubbles among the blurred outline of leaves. Overhead, the sky is a remote blue, although possessing a peculiar density so that it appears, not like the interior of a dome, but rather like the outer surface of a gigantic sphere.
People fall silent as they move across the lawn, engrossed in the subtle diffusion of light.
One group of friends remains standing beside their picnic blanket. They take turns holding up a dark rectangle of glass. Through the smoky lens, the black ball of the moon can be seen blocking the sun, with only a thin halo of the brightest green visible around the edge. Whatever we do, there is the underlying awareness of time passing, of impermanence. Or we may visit someone in a hospice, or take our cushion to Rochester's Mt. Hope Cemetary and do zazen facing a gravestone.