Yoga

When I discovered the venue some years back, I was in yoga heaven. What could be finer than a reclaimed New England barn sitting in an open field? Downward dog with the scent of freshly baled hay wafting in through the open windows, warrior pose looking up at the soaring beams, namaste with eyes closed and mind focused on my breath. The mat is one's personal space in a yoga class, but the space feels tighter than the mat when fish pose places your face almost against the bottoms of a stranger's sandy feet or when crow pose directs your gaze closer than you would like to the sweaty thighs beside you.