Over a year ago, I had moved a rock to the entrance of the driveway and the main road, about 50 feet outside the gate. For quite some time, the rock has alluded to me that under no terms would it be spending its days on the side of the road, cast out like some average rock. In silence it sat and waited for me. Until a week ago, when I had had enough. So, in an ode to Sisyphus, Howard and I began the journey of moving Boulder home. Within three days we had Boulder up the driveway to the inside of the gate.
Moving Boulder past the motorhome took both of us, as the room for maneuvering tools narrowed. There was only about 20 feet between the motorhome and the blue-tarped tongue and groove on the right.
Once past the motorhome, Howard took Boulder under his wing. Above he manages to move Boulder another 30 feet to the garage path.
Howard has always been very adept at speaking "rock", but this season he has really embraced the gift.
Yesterday, he and Boulder were on a tear, moving a total of 60 ft. Here, they break, sitting in silence, inextricably connected.
Bonded beyond understanding each flowing into, over, between, and around the other's consciousness. "Play dates" are a beautiful journey of oneness.
Gathering momentum toward its destination, I needed to step in to adjust rotation and ready Boulder for seating. In another post, positioning and final resting place.
