“Keep focusing, Don, and you’ll get there.” Emerson’s words were encouraging. Don considered himself fit, but he wasn’t used to this kind of exercise. Stretching, poses, and meditating. Quieting his mind was something Don had never thought possible or even thought to try. However, after several days — or was it weeks, he didn’t know — Don was able to completely be in the present. Life on Walden Pond was always in the present.Farm life followed a rhythm. They arose, practiced mind-,r energy-, or centering- yoga, ate a light meal, and did their morning gardening chores. Midday was the largest meal, then in the afternoons they pursued their activities. Don was learning new skills every day. He discovered he really enjoyed playing the guitar. Gardening was rewarding. Woodworking was challenging.Their time to sleep was in the late afternoon, rising at night to garden or do other chores, to gather around the campfire and sing or dance. They fished by the light of the moon, and swam in starlight. His new friends were not sure why they kept the schedule they did; whenever Don asked, the answer was simply, “We’ve always done it this way.”After a time, Don, too, felt that it had always been done this way. Memories of his life before walking over the bridge became clouded.
One evening, Don could no longer remember a world on the other side of the bridge. This was his life. Emerson was his love; the farm his life. Somehow, between the weeding and cow plant feeding, they had fallen for each other. Emery had Meagan, Kelli had Maurice; now Emerson had Don, and he had Emerson.