A day-ender, after builders and painter have headed home, before sundown but feeling the first flush of a refreshing temperature drop, talking, debriefing the day, Carley stretched in the shady grass almost asleep, hammocking…
For the third season in a row we’ve enjoyed group hammocking among the still adolescent stand of maple trees growing between the tennis court and the orchard.(Source: Hammock Huddle Haiku)
No words of wisdom. No aphoristic anecdote.
Just an observation. Hammocking catalyzes banter, creative and even sometimes constructive conversation. Collaboration.
Perhaps it’s the perspective shift. Or the suspension. Or the gentle swinging motion. The editing. The framing. The feathery tickle of a breeze. Or a caterpillar.
Looking through legs and feet and knitted rope and trees, the icehouse — for a contemplative moment — isn’t a muddy eyesore, incomplete, still strained with missed deadlines. It’s a welcoming backdrop inviting us to disk in the hot tub, rest on the deck, consider the flowers, share a meal, watch a sunset, compose a poem,…
Hammocking recalibrates and encourages wonder.