Some time ago I posted about my disgruntlement at having to pour the offering water out in the flowerbeds rather than just down the sink. It's become one of my favorite moments of the practice -- taking the pitcher out to the back porch, in the early morning, pouring a glittering stream of water onto the plants below, with the sunlight filtering through our apple tree, and rippling silver and new-green in the neighbors' poplars. I just stand there a while, bare feet on the wet porch, and watch the leaves, and breathe the dew-washed air, with the world all bright and new around me. And this -- this was the moment I resented having foisted upon me.