My father's death anniversary. It is a gray May dawn. I light butter lamps. As I drive away from home I note the glow in the prayer room window.
On the road with the stop-and-start of the traffic in the drizzle I half-listen to the radio:
A train crash in India, Kenyan flower growers ruined by the Icelandic volcano ash, more flight cancellations and foreign tourists stranded in the International Airport.
At last light the valley is still in seamless gray. The sun is a haze of orange.
all along the path
to the Tsepegma* temple –
hemlocks in bloom
Tsepegma (Tibetan SA-PA-MAY) - Buddha of Long Life.