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It's raining. It's raining A Lot. The rivers have swollen from the downpours. The grounds are swollen with the abundance of water. The paths beneath my feet feel soft from the high water table, and are ready to shed the excess into rivulets with every step.

In all this, the birds rejoice.

The trees love the rain. The amphibians love the rain. The birds? The birds Adore the rain. The more it rains, the more the birds sing. The Juncos, the chickadees, the goldfinches all appear giddy. I try to capture their expressions of delight here in the transfusions of rain.

The sweet Juncos sing in syncopated trills, loudest on rainy days, sounding like the burbling of water over smooth pebbles, with harmony and stereo. Their calls seem to come from everywhere in the forest, echoing 360 degrees. The chickadees, they laugh and squeal in joy, flying in loops, while performing general feats of daring in their playful game of courting. The cardinal calls boldly and proudly; and the goldfinches twitter like after-school children in glee. As the rain falls, the songs amplify in direct proportion to the amount of moisture in the air.

They know something about creating their heaven on earth that I am learning. They relish these days of rain that linger and soak, they rejoice in the waters that stream off the land. They are creating a chemistry of delight in the presence of the divine in water.

I heard this quote from the autists of the Telepathy Tapes, as transcribed by Veda Austin,

"water is the expression of the Creator's first love, a being that Creator never wants to separate from.
Therefore, it is everything. It's love." "even after the water leaves, the water still echoes."
*~*

The birds appear to already know this mystery. And when we listen to them, we seem to feel it too, as though the music of birdsong is expressing the love of Spirit to us. And we have only to listen. They have received a memo about the rain, that we are only beginning to understand.

Their message from the universe: on rainy day, sing your love, with purpose and increased joy. Twirl and trill, thrum and hum, twitter and soar, rock and roll. Laugh out loud with glee. Let's try that too.

There is a word in Sanskrit, Bhāvana, meaning, to infuse, or to saturate any powder with fluid; an infusion; a feeling of devotion; and the moral of a fable, (Lorin Roche). Bhāvana is a perfect description for the woods and the birds in the rain, this Spring. From their song and the water, the land has been infused with delight, and with the transmission of joy of the divine. This infusion could change us, could change our chemistry. To teach us to create heaven on earth with our neighbors. Lorin Roche, asks, with what qualities would you like to infuse your day? Gratitude? Awe? Quietessence? What heaven can you create today?

As it rains, I look up, in the attempt to absorb the infusion in the atmosphere, the transmissions from the sky, the codes of delight. I want to sing my song with purpose, delight and clarity.

Welcome rainy day. Welcome clouds. Welcome creator.

Welcome song.

Welcome birds of Spring creating paradise on Earth. I best go outside, observe and listen.

For more musing on the waters and the very wet Spring ~ Venus Muse~

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There have been times since Imbolc, when I Knew, theoretically, that the waters flowed beneath the surface of the visible. There have been times, when I would hope for a sign of the flowing movement, where here in northern country, the ground froze deep below the snowpack. During these times, I would imagine the wet worlds moving with the life-force, but I could not see it. I could not even see the ground beneath my feet, much less the cheerful spring waters that bubble and cleanse. These have been invisible, even here, in my habitually very wet world.

Unlike me, the trees Did Know Spring was arriving. They responded to the rising light with swelling buds and flowing sap. The willows down in the valley began the transformation of turning their brown limbs to gold in the warming sun. The birds Did Know too. They sing their mating songs gleefully as they congregate, and the deer, who begin their migrations, Knew too.

Me? I continued to simply hold faith, that though the ground was hidden 3 feet below my feet, though the mornings dried the overnight ice, though the winds were bitter and cold, that somewhere, deep within, the waters were moving. And that somehow, sometime soon, we would see it with our own eyes too.

Then, 2 weeks ago, it all began to melt, flow, spread. The mysterious force of life, the carrier of light, pushed out and through, to reveal and transform. Since then, the meltings, the ice floes, the fog, the springs, the creeks, the streams, the rivers, the waterfalls, the clouds have burbled and bubbled with a stunning primal force. Everything wet has sprung, and transformed without pause. The Waters Have Returned, gloriously.

When my own senses, my own skin couldn't feel it, I knew to turn to my guides: the birds who knew; the winds who knew.; the trees who knew. I trust them.

Now, at last, the shift has happened - I hear, feel and see the moving waters which tumble below the snows, or rise up and out of the frozen. I hear and feel the creeks flowing, day, and night, and the dusk air full of moisture. A thickness moving the gloaming. I also hear the enhanced calls of the wild animals sharing their excitement of Spring. And all this change brings the gentlest of feelings. A calming, a trust.

During this period, there was one morning, when the unmistakable call came. We all know this sound. And when we hear it, we all turn to each other and say, "they're back!" And we look upward to see if we can see them too. This sound brings us to a full stop; a rare moment without urgency, we listen, pause, feel and breathe in, deeply. The activities of the planet all stop and pause with us, when the calls of the geese announce their return. Never do we tire of this gift.

This year, when the call came, I was walking in the woods, in the morning, and the sound stopped me mid-step. Looking up, I wondered, "How can such a simple sound signify so much meaning?" I whispered to the geese, that I could spy through the bare tree limbs, "Did you bring this Spring on your wings? when you flew overhead? Did the very beating of your wings initiate the change? and now Spring can burst forth?" "Did your ancient call open a portal that gave the signal to open the gates for these gifts?" I do not know. What I do know, is that the air shifted, my heart stilled, the wind gentled. I breathed in this miracle of life deeply. All rushing ceased. I arrived in a moment of no time.

In early March, I find, I can barely imagine new life, or the feel of springing steps in the soft mud that we mire through. And then, the geese call, and then life burgeons within; it all seems possible again. Now, like the geese who fly miles in companionship in simple faith, I too can gather my visions of community, trust and softness to remind me of the possibility of green fields ahead. I hold steady, in flight and in hope, for the dawning of the new day.

Happy Equinox Blessings

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On the evening of the 40th day, a bell chimed. The sounding of a note. This note rang so quietly that it felt like the landing of a feather on still water, creating a gentle ripple. It came softly on the tail end of a surprising day; I heard the tone and smiled; I received the sound as the gift of his farewell.

I had been anticipating an event, a sign of some kind, something to mark the significance of the passage. Nothing unusual had happened yet on this day to commemorate it, until the arrival of this gentle chime, which breathed through the air to me, like an angel landing on my shoulder, offering a kiss, then flying to heaven. There was not a logical cause for the sound. My phone was off. I did not hit anything to create a chime. The sound came out of stillness. Well, perhaps, just maybe, an owl had landed on a branch outside, the very branch that also happens to holds a wind chime. And, in the landing, on this branch, the owl set off a sound wave, which reached me. Maybe this is true, and if so, she or he is also a remarkable guest to come with such treasures to lay before my heart. A guest, most welcome.

I had been readying for bed, picking up the detritus that inevitably accumulates on the yurt floor. I noted the alter of things he loved, and I was generally winding down before sleep. That was when I heard this quietest and gentlest of sounds. I knew that the tone was him, saying "I made it. My earth-time roaming is no more." The marking of the passage leaves me with peace and joy, because his happiness is so palpable.

How do we describe the essence of a magnificent being? Or the wonder of the light of one who warms our hearts from the inside out? When he left his beautiful physical form, I wrote, in my journal, these words, "I never wanted to write, that my beloved, the noble prince of the yurt, the jaguar of my heart, has passed on, to Spirit. Yet, I do write it, he resides now, in the forest of his home, in the wind that calls the trees, in the waters that travels through the earth, in the logs that bask in the warmth of the sun. He is amidst all these things he loved.

"My heart, my yurt, my song is quiet. And still I breathe. I listen for him in the morning. I imagine him returning home to warm by the fires. I laugh at the memories of his ways. His presence continues as a guide in the dark to help my roaming in the valley of grief. He is ever wiser than me, so I listen for and to him still; these visions of him comfort me"

In truth, his spirit has gifted me with many days of celebration, and this has surprised me - of connecting to new and old friends. Of laughter and hugs. It is as though he wanted me to focus on the joyful expression of life with fierce undivided attention.

He continues to beam his love in much of same the way he did in life. He is infinite, and peaceful. He is sparkling and everywhere. The 40th day felt surprising as it was a great sparkling light of a day. A day of joy, a day full of surprises and sun. A wonder and a playful twirl of chirpings. Just like him.

Perhaps where he goes, a part of me goes as well ~ so a part of me, like him, is infinite, playful, free. Our time, here, is so brief, his transition reminds me to enjoy this life, to embrace, to break open, to cry, to laugh, and to connect.

Grace continues to carry me along on a mysterious ocean current dredging up sediment from the ocean floor, that then in turn nourishes the wildlife living on the edge. I find that I dwell on this edge. I nourish myself from that which rises from the depths.

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I write, a few nights later, about that magical night. As I sit, I hear the northbound train toning a soulful sound. Here, in this valley, the sound of the passing train makes harmonic resonances, like a calling back and forth of two musicians, calling out their greetings to each other as they pass in the night.

This night, the call weaves a winding thread between me and all the beings in these hills. The winding thread connects and unites us all to each other, just as the mysterious bell and my memories connect me to my beloved. An interweaving and interplaying through the tapestry. These sound waves remind me that those we love abide and abound in every atom of this life.

Feeling this connection again, I feel his joy of running with the wind, climbing in the trees nearby, watching the owls cast their nightly flights, pondering the passages of the stars, purring in the light. I catch sight of his soul preening in the moonlight and sunlight. He is an angel of Spirit chasing the sparkles within the dimensions, in a new and mystical form. This angel continues to repaint my world with currents and colors, sparkling in every snow flake and rainbow reflection; and in the whispers of the trees, I feel him smiling. My heart will know more tears, my mind may reel again in disbelief, and for now, at this moment, I feel gratitude for the living days with him, sure of his grace, peace and love.

So, my beautiful beloved feline, who has completed this magnificent song for now, who has toned a note into the ethers connecting us all to the love we are, to each other, I shall sleep now, hoping I may still occasionally catch sight of you in my dreams. Rest well. Be as free as the wind, gentle as the snow, Warm as the sun, soft as the rain, playful as the dancing leaf, content as the flowers - all this surrounds me, still, and reminds me of you, and of love.

A poem of Simple grace ~

Om ~ I bow to god within consciousness
Om ~ To the sound of the curl of wings in flight 
Om ~ to the light reflected in a thousand drops of dew
Om ~ to the beauty within, and its reflection without.
Om ~ to the sound of falling snow
that lands like a blanket on our awakening land.
Om ~ to the mystery within
and the moving light across the seas of time
Om ~ to the stretching of a smiling cat
Om ~ I bow to the mystery that is life.

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The sun nestles comfortably below the treeline today, on her trip around the universe; the filtered light that comes through the branches, begins to fade by 2:30. Often this time of sinking, signals a message to move into hibernation mode to welcome the dark. Or, as it does today, the shift provides an unseen signal to stir up a few snow squalls before the dark of the solstice winter night arrives. All this hazy filtered light and delicate lightness of water create a cozy invitation to move to the hearth of our souls.

By Louis Douzette

This between time, so full of secrets, brings stillness and gifts. There were hints of change this morning when the day arrived, coming in with pink blushes. And the dusk lingered longer in the evergreens creating misty webs, suggesting hidden gifts yet to be unwrapped. The day woke with a secret smile. blushing, imagining the gifts to come. The forest smiled and sighed, conjuring up gentle winds laden with snowflakes creating beauty. I can feel something wonderful arriving as I stretch myself into waking, when peak out on the day filled with water crystals. This gentle wind, the drifting snowflake, muffled sounds, holds us in suspension. I find myself asking, what if the impossible wonderful, is possible? The secret is still hidden from view; soon the clouds will lift and then we will see what may be possible, what may be wonderful and new. What may feel like a new creation unveiled.

I hold hope for these dreams and creations

I listen at day's doorstep, listening, smiling in hope of the unknown. I will to wait until the day is ready to reveal her secrets. And As the day unwinds, I will be unapologetically like my feline companion, who watches with curiosity and then returns to circle up closer to the fire; I will rest with fierceness, and trust in the goodness of the day, to bring something miraculous.

For all we love both in body and those who are in Spirit, Happy Solstice - May the fires 🔥 within be kindled anew

Photo taken by Dano Morris at dawn

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The winds blow long, and loud, this November. The forest moans with their intensity, as they move in and through the trees, in gusts that grip and blow the remaining leaves away from their summer homes. The wind pulls the limbs, this way and a that, blowing with insistence. This wind that arrives with graying skies, reaches in and stirs my own fire, bringing restlessness, and presenting a challenge to find stillness, grounding, and quiet in this sound and fury.

I seem to crave the stillness of the trees, who remain rooted, tall, proud and bare-limbed. In their stillness they hold a trueness and an authenticity, ready for what may come.

The skies are gray.
The cornfields are brown, the forests damp and cool. 
The spotted salamanders creep into their tumbled leafy homes under the duff.
The mammals gather the foods for winter stores,
The deer call their family from the forest's edge.
The flocks of geese turn south in unfolding strands of family groups, leaving behind the frosty waters here.

I watch the flying groups of geese from the mountain top. This attention holds me. It helps me ground and return to center. I watch to gain perspective. This perch, here on top of the world, is a place to which I often return, to discover and maintain an inner cohesion; it is a place of landing. From this position, I witness those who travel, ahead of the cold winds to come. Ahead of the trials we will encounter. I witness the changing clouds, and also the ever present sun, stars, and planets in their passages across the skies.

In this practice, I purposefully, attentively also count the flying individuals as they pass. Individual, by individual, like conjuring a spell, a prayer, a gift to help them in their passage. I offer this prayer to them in hopes the gift may help them on their journeys ahead, and aid their swift return home. I know, they know, we know, that for now, winter winds and weather must blow. We ready for winter and the snows to come.

A friend from the mountain said , "Change is in the air and we witness it. All we can do is witness. All we can do is watch and count and ponder what not so long ago was, what now is, and what in future may or may not be."

The shifting of season from Autumn to Winter heralds a time of dreaming. Before the magic of new life can return, we must dream. And ponder, what we know and believe. Review our paths, and where we hope to go. And when we awake, when Spring returns, then it will be time to begin the dance of bringing the magic of new life. I will be ready.

For now, I collect my tools for the wisdom months: book, humor, art, pen, tea. Trusting that soon the thread, the one to lead us forward on the path, the one that will reveal itself as quiet knowing, the one to help us find our way will arrive. I will try to be like the trees, grounded, ready, still, and standing in unadorned bareness.
Ready for the winter snows and storms. Ready for what may come.

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A new crowd has arrived
in the neighborhood, who are enjoying a garden buffet.

These rare and even days of early Autumn, when daylight warms us easily, and nights, feel cozy, and when most of the summer flock has moved on to warmer climes, the forest has brought a new set of friends. I knew they were new, because they had to work out flying rules with each other. They had to figure out how to negotiate the voracious chipmunks, the feisty loud bluejay. And how to find waiting posts while I delivered the repast. They flutter in an out to avoid me and each other, but don't move too far away.


They perch on tall goldenrods, awaiting service, waiting for me to put their morning meal on the feeders, flying in quickly to snack, and then flitting off even faster with up and down flight patterns wishing to enjoy their meal elsewhere; they seem to prefer to eat and away, out in the open, and away from me and the feline predator. The newcomers consists of recently hatched chickadees, sparrows, robins, bluejays, cardinals, and at night, owls.

I sprinkle seeds in and on the different stations, keeping in mind the different birds' needs. After all, I offer the seeds for birds, but often other animals like the food as well. The arena includes chipmunks, raccoons, skunks, rabbits, the adorable opossum and occasionally a bear. Not every day, but often, I look out my door and see a four legged mingle with their not too distant winged kin, enjoying the feast.

I heard this quote from Humberto Maturana (as translated by P Cumplido,) "Love is giving space to the other, to allow other to have and be a presence." In the space of witnessing each other we have the encounter which allows the heart to grow and expand with love. I like thinking these guests are learning how to provide space.

Some of the newcomers may stay for winter, others, will stay only to enjoy the pleasant weather before winter winds chase them south. All appear to mingle freely, indeed they have learned how to fly with each other. A white-throated sparrow trills, a chickadee cavorts. General contentment flows in the garden buffet, where we rest to enjoy the sun, eat at the feeder of life and feel companionable with kin. There is vacationing vibe at the feeders this early October.

They have helped to ease the sadness of saying goodbye to many of the summer's residents; I find I am relishing this glowing season more quickly than usual. I think it is from the new friends who add to the joyful dance of leaves with their twitters and chirps.

I had another encounter, the other day, with winged kin, while driving north near Ottauquechee river. During this drive, I happened to glance up and saw a bird that immediately made me want to pull over and reach for my binoculars.

Surely, I thought, That, is an eagle. But who is with it?
And why is this bird dipping and dancing, showing its vulnerable undersides? Flashing their transitional white plumage in the Autumn sun? And is that indeed another eagle? I had stopped at a Gorge where I eventually counted and comprehended that 10 birds of various sizes and ages, were flying in a thermal mere feet above my head ~ circling, dipping and then rising again. They were lingering, not migrating, yet. Clearly enjoying a convergence of rivers, mountains, and winds. Here is where I experienced an encounter I will not forget. As I watched, this story unfolded ~

The one adolescent bald eagle turned into five, kettling over the gorge. And in this kettle, the raptors were dancing, playing actually, with five ravens, purposefully moving toward and then flipping over and under their smaller kin. Somersaulting and twirling into barrel rolls. Flying in and then away in graceful patterns. So large, I could never keep more than two birds in my view, and sometimes not even that. The ravens kept close by and joined in the dance as well they could.

Two of these birds stayed close and marked each other's moves in tandem. Moving in tandem as practiced good friends ~ dancing, cavorting, and twirling together.

Eventually, some of the ravens and eagles traveled on, and south. That is, the eagles traveled south. The ravens lowered into the valley, below sight. Before leaving, one of these pairs of ravens hovered so near to each other that the top one, could and did gently, carefully, lowered his wings, to brush the tips of the other.

And in a final gift, the last pair to leave the Gorge, was an eagle and a raven duo. They were flying so close to each other, in tandem, as the two ravens had just done, that they nearly touched. They flew with ease and presence. A gift of time and space. They continued south and on, beyond my field of vision. And though I could still imagine I heard the music, I no longer saw them.

Have you ever had the experience, where some thing, some music, some art, is so entirely beautiful that you spontaneously start weeping? I did, on the side of busy 91N highway. My heart was cracked open at the beauty of connection and encounter. I wished to share that encounter with you. To imagine our cousins spontaneously, peacefully, demonstrating love and co-existence. My heart ached with joy and beauty.

once again, these kin are my guides to living on this planet.

Thank you, for reading this post, for imagining this peace with me. Blessings to all of you, all who travel on finding one's warmth, and all who stay and dwell in the northern forests. Namaste, welcome home to your hearts.

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"Life is about light."
"Everything that is alive has to have light inside of it.
When something falls away from the light, it starts to decline." from R Rudd in "Transforming depression"

The light has changed as we move from Summer to Autumn. The light. The bright confident roar of light that filled our days, has quieted. There is a gentleness now, in this sideways light. Yet, after the brilliant radiant blaze of summer, this lowering, this shift of this star, feels like a falling, a moving toward decline.

The gardens hover between decay and tenderness. The flower heads brown into their seed heads. The light during the day, decreases in intensity and length palpably. The birds, ahh, the birds, my and the forest' companions, are moving away now, moving south.

One morning, a hummingbird hovered just to my right, above my ears, above the flowers, while I was reading. I realized, that this little friend, may indeed be saying, goodbye.
I turned my head as this fleet-winged friend, turned and sped south, as fast as the wind, on whirring wings. I called out ~ "Blessings dear one. Travel safely. I hope you may come back to share summer with me, and this land next year."

I am saying good bye to many of Summer's friends. I notice the leaves appear to linger, slowing their falling day, gently moving with the winds on the trees limbs. Gently moving with the winds of change. Soon, they will fall to the ground too.

Knowing this, I turn my face to the sun, like a sunflower, and whisper gratitude. I seek out the friends still here. I seek where the light still radiates out from the core. I plant the seeds of new life with my attention now. Like a harvest of gratitude.

For now, I notice, that I still hear the faint trill of both resident and migrant thrush nesting in the nearby woods; the baby owl practicing her new singing voice in duet with her parent. Bluejays congregating and calling, geese on the river, practicing flights over the fields. The crickets hum, the frogs chirp. The bear rummages through, the raccoons roll out as dusk calls, and the adolescent skunks forage in my yard for their evening meals. (I have three different teenage skunks, each with distinctive tails. And when all three are present, it is a tableau of black and white.) I leave my screen door up so that I may better hear all of these neighbors' entertaining lives.

Each flower that blooms, each bright moment feels so poignant. Yes, I miss the chorus of birds that fills the air in the height of summer. And the possibilities of new growth and greenery. The noise, the heat. The cacophony. I miss these and I also dig deep and notice the sparkle that is still present.

In this sparkle, I create a dream of light with colors of many hues. I breathe in the belief in the light that is present. What can I dream with this architecture of light that streams in with Autumnal quiet? How can I still revel in the memories of summer and mold them anew into new devotions? This is an inner journey as well as an outer, to surrender to this flowing change that shifts as I watch. Seasons, and light flowing from one resplendent vision to the next. Breathing. I surrender.

A male junco hops out of the shrubs and the low asters. Seeking new seed for the belly. Perhaps he is one of the babies from this summer. Perhaps he has chicks still to feed. A beautiful wind arises as the clouds move. A wind from the trees. Asters, goldenrod, golden sunflowers wave in this breeze. The hilltops are aglow with early Autumn sun.

The roar of joy, melts and merges into a murmer of a prayerful chant


"Be wildly devoted to someone,
or something.
cherish every perception.
... forget about control.
Allow the Beloved to be herself, and to change.

Passion and compassion, holding and letting go--
this ache in your heart is holy.
accept it as the rise of intimacy with
life's secret ways.

Devotion is the divine streaming through you."

From Radiance Sutras, sutra 98

I wrote a little piece in honor of the Equinox, You can read it here Seasonal Happenings

Happy Fall, and Happy Equinox. So much love <3

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Days feels subdued this time of year. The morning chorus is not as exuberant, the bird calls less riotous, the soundscape incorporates the hum of crickets and an occasional low note of a frog. The fog, and sometimes mist, rolls in too, in the beginning and end of the day, dampening the sounds, and increasing a sense of quiet. The days ebb slowly and gently into night, like neighbors lingering at a garden fence before they move on, to their next destination. Gardens demand less digging, more tending, as the photo below demonstrates.

Perhaps all the captivating sound and drama that amazed us in early June still exists in July-August, only spread out more evenly now throughout the day, with less dips and spikes.

Whatever it is, I feel a shift. And, I confess, I feel it as foreign. I tend to relish the whitewater of early summer ~ the whitecapped filled crashing of waves, the musical conversations lingering in the air, the unknown, the chorus of possibilities.

Now, the river of summer, has lead me into a calmer waterway with banks wide, pace slow. I feel as though I am on a riverboat where the activity entails watching the occasional jumping of fish, or the chittering fishers. It is luxuriant, evenly paced.... Regardless, I can't find its rhythm. I find that my inner rhythm, the one that tends to seek the noise, the laughter, the crest of the wave, feels at a loss. What am I to do? What is the most precious thing calling me now? What is this energy? and how do I synchronize to it?

Long gone are the days of Solstice with its high voltage push to create; now, here, is a slower thoughtful pace. Perhaps this quiet is like the easy space between words in a conversation amongst friends who don't always need to speak, who find comfort resting in long lapses of silence. How do I learn to slow to this new rhythm?

I shall start by asking myself, what do I hear, feel and see?

I hear a low buzz of a bee, and then a quicker one of a hummingbird, passing en route to a flower. I hear the ever present gift of crickets, chirping their tune for themselves. I hear the titmice fledglings confidently calling in a laughing tone to each other.

I feel a breeze called up by the trees. I feel the growing humidity of the day slowing my breath and movement. I feel the damp dew under my feet.

I see... Ahh, I see, the green. everywhere. The gift of Vermont. I see the flowers to be, flowers still fresh and flowers spent, passing on their pollen. As though time is unraveling in the slowed down pace of motion pictures.

Now, I have slowed enough to hear the wind that whispers too, "notice me." A wind that brings a smile, saying, here, here, here. I feel the wind on my face and how it embraces the creatures as the wave passes. The wind has opened my eyes and I see the radiance inside all these lives. The life force that is shimmering in the light, beckoning you and me to receive the gifts present. Here, now, pulse, breathe, listen. Listen to the light of now, here. pause, be and, make room for all this light. And, Radiate. Radiate your light, our light.

The subtle winds of nurture and care of early summer have shifted gently and not so subtly to Notice and attend to the light within and the light without. Let them have dialogue, give them time to pause too, as if they are old friends, where there can be both moments of cacophony and moments of silence. Let the unknown creep in with ease so that magic can unfold before your eyes in a diversity of song.

I see the light shining off the green life around me. Which makes it sure hard to pull out that bolting lettuce in my garden ~ it is so pretty in reds and greens, I move a few over, to give room for the new. And leave a few for brilliance. I notice a self-sown mullein who nestles comfortably in the plot alongside with companion plants. I Ieave that friend too. Now, I can imagine the magic that may unfold here in this little bit of wild.

A little wild in my garden of summer offering me the most magical gifts of light.

The harvest from the wild is a gift
that once given opens a deepening
relationship between
given and gifted.
~RW Kimmerer

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The Sun, Moon and Earth are in calm reception with each other these days. I awake and feel stillness. I watch the setting sun lingering slowly on horizon's edge, as though though the sun does not want to leave the earth's presence, just yet. The night eases in quietly and slowly, joining the sparkling dance of life with fireflies and night sprites. Dancing light. The moon waxes to full Strawberry blessings.

Each luminary, pausing in the dance with each other on this long long stillness.

I awake in the mornings with gentle chirping of a pair of cardinals eating at the feeder; the buzz of hummingbirds drinking; the occasional soft hum of activity contrasts the greater gentle stillness of these days. Awe waxes easily in the grace of this season.

The heat also waxed this week, making movement difficult. My cat’s meow turned into a croaking, I sought breezes to help me breathe. I anticipated days of this heat and increased presence of the sun, I planned to simply sweat to keep cool. And then, the surprise arrived. I heard thunder.
Glorious impressive thunder.

My body trilled in hope and anticipation and sure enough the skies, unexpectedly opened releasing a torrent of water, to drench the land, the animals, the ponds and me with cooling water. I ran out and danced in it, in my warm weather clothes, soaking to the skin before it ended. Squealing with delight.

My energy completely changed
I heard the lesson for me in this moment: where we are, can change faster than we know. In this moment of pause before the unfolding of the next season, a new possibility has arrived. A new experience gifted us. I wonder, what other new possibilities might this new season bring? What might be a new goal for me to embrace with the graces and gifts this season brings?

Happy Solstice dear friends 🌞
Wishing you new possibilities of expression

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Wee gentle night sprites have landed in their summer homes. I can hear them rustling at the very tippy tops of the trees. Their whispers become especially clear, when I linger outside between dusk and dark. One night, while enjoying the crepuscular light, I heard their gentle movement emanating from the softly rustling limbs. My ears could not hear the specific words; instead, I hear the tones of contentment, laughter, easy conversation between friends, the shaking of hands, the songs of saying, "I love you."

I imagine the greetings may go along the lines of something like ~

"Hello there! You are arrived!" "So nice to see you again," "Here I am, this year in the birches," "Have you seen so and so from uphill?" And so on. Maybe they comment on how the plants have changed~ "My this sapling is a young oak now," or "What a nice night-scape you have," or "has anyone seen little ferny?" And so forth, stumbling along, on the path of reuniting, of hanging out with easy and good friends.

Later on, the conversations will gain a deeper timbre, one that is serious about the business of melding with the wind in the trees, of the making of music in the night. For now, the tone is gentle, a little higher pitched and "Springy."

Nice neighbors to have in this warming season, Nice neighbors bringing sweet nothings to the night air.

I briefly forgot recently, that it was still indeed Spring. The night had gained a deeper chill, inspiring the making of a fire inside. So I was surprised when going outside to hear the susurrations and purrings from the neighbors in tree tops. I also felt relief that the chill had not not scare them away from their Springtime merrymaking. They seem to adapt to the fluctuations in conditions as one might modify a dance to the changing rhythms of music.

Sounds and smells and colors are all visceral reminders to me that this is Spring, the unveiling of creation. I seek each of these senses to revel in every year and this has been a bonus year with so many flowers, colors, sounds and visitors. I am glad I walked out and into the night time paths to hear the new arrivals shimmering with expectation for the season ahead. Who are you hearing in your neighborhood?

Welcome shadows, Welcome Spring, welcome sky, night noises, you and me.