The Labyrinth

This weekend, a dear friend and I went here:

We hadn't planned it; we were on a set of rather mundane errands. But we stopped by nonetheless, and I for one am very grateful.

The labyrinth has changed much since this picture was taken. There is a lot of first-nations inspired art dotting the perimeter. There is a pagan altar in the center now, clearly being used to leave small token gifts from visitors.

What startled me so about the experience was not the wonderful, welcoming hostess who assured us the labyrinth was available to the public and invited us to tour the bed and breakfast. The hostess whose welcome touched me most was the doe who followed us in. She'd been standing in the road, eating blackberry greens when we arrived. By the time we started the labyrinth, she was waiting for us.

I'd just passed over the surrender stone at the entrance when I looked up and she was resting at the head of the labyrinth, directly opposite us. In the picture above, she'd be laying on the fern in the center top. She watched us curiously for several minutes as we wended our way, completely aware of her safety and belonging. Satisfied that we were settling in, she went back to her lunch.

I admit that her presence was so distracting to me that I didn't "do" the labyrinth properly. I kept staring at her, wherever she moved, to make sure she was still there.

But then, maybe on this day, that was the point.