We reach the crater lake at noon. Magical Lake Nyinabulitwa. Tiny little birds the size of pinky fingers flit gleefully from reed to reed. The birds are so slight, their touch so gentle, that the stalks barely bend as they land. A warm breeze shimmers through the still air. Clusters of lakeside reeds and tree branches yield in soft, sweeping succession, surrendering to the winds in a rippling Mexican wave. Birds chirp, insects hum, leaves rustle. The chorus of the universe. I slip my sleepless bones into a terrace chair and breathe a sigh of bliss. Eyes closed, body open, the moment unfolds. My soul stirs with the breeze.
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