Retreat

A few examples of an imperative sentence:

Go into the forest for a couple of days, even if it costs a little money, and sleep in a sleeping bag on an unfamiliar bunk in a dormitory full of relative strangers. Live by an altered, imposed, and accepted set of boundaries. Wake up at 5:00 to the sound of a bell, followed by chanting, drumming, and another bell. Be silent until breakfast at 7:30. Sit as much as you want. Take a break, then sit some more.

When you're not sitting, go outside in the crisp October air and walk down the trail to visit the bald eagle, the red-tailed hawk, kestrels, barn owls, barred owls, and turkey vultures that are sheltered at the Raptor Center. Do a taiji form on the brick fire circle just outside the kitchen with your morning coffee, then do another one after dark while the stars come out.

Go for a serious hike down into the glen, across the bridge, past Helen's Rock and Pompey's Pillar, and take a drink from the yellow spring that gives the town its name. Walk along the top of the ridge, down some steep steps, and closer to the creek. Mind your own business, just like the other hikers - young, old, and in between - mind theirs. Get a little bit lost, and find out by accident that the trail loops back to where you came from. Take off a layer or two and cool off.

Help with lunch, then help clean up. Collect enough kindling to get a fire started after dinner, and sit around talking with four or five other people while the fire burns down to coals.

When it's time to go, pack up your stuff, help clear the rooms of furniture, and mop the floor. Take a detour into town, and since it's such a nice day, take a bike ride up the paved trail, stopping to fix a flat tire on the way back, thankful that you brought a spare tube and a hand-pump. Recover from that little adventure with a sandwich and coffee at a little place on Xenia Ave.

Drive home and do a couple of chores because the back yard looks so welcoming.