Trust

We rarely lock our doors. Years ago, when we first moved here, our only neighbors were two brothers, local boys and their wives, occupying separate trailers. One of their little girls would remove any prayer flags she came across in the woods or by our spring. We simply replaced them. The child's grandmother was equally curious and quietly climbed the hill behind us to see what the hippies do up there and discovered what she called 'kung-fu altars' which was apparently a relief as there were rumours about 'devil-altars'. Good woman that she is, Christine checked the hill out our for herself and assured her friends that whatever it was that we were doing, it was definitely not demonic. Eventually, their little clan moved away and sold the land to other members of our sangha.

An assortment of crystals and stones, some carved into the shape of turtles, dorjes, bells, sea shells and antlers, conchs, and buddha statues cover these little shrines and beyond changing a worn cloth or adding a new offering, they have sat undisturbed for decades.

My closest neighbors are friends who bought some of the land next door. They live another quarter mile into the woods where the road comes to a dead end. We often make use of this stretch for short afternoon walks. They had attended a Christmas recital at the local school where their kids performed Mozart's Night Music and came home to find their house had been robbed. We are pretty sure we know who did it. It is pretty quiet back here. Sometime in the afternoon, a car sped up the road so fast that the noise got my son's attention, allowing him to identify the vehicle through the now bare woods. The police were called. Everything is replaceable except the trust.