•

The hills unfold in a colorful tapestry of luminous light, creating a shifting scene of beauty. This year, I can imagine the trees are uniting as one, to sing of this season of release. And in so doing, they are creating an elaborate light show for the universe. Sending the song out in waves of light. This year, the beauty of this luminous glowing field is beyond words, it is a song of praise for any and all. A song of the trees' time here on earth.

The light in the Autumn day mingles with the melody, making it glow with extra color, melding it into something entirely new. Never have I seen such music, or watched such performance in the hills. Light and melody mixed in unending wonder. One moment unlike the next, one strand of music leading to another.

My imagination tells me that the trees are singing their song of gratitude for this earthling life to the universes, gifting the spheres with a taste of Earth's color and light, melody and song. I imagine it is their parting gift to the stars who shine their light day after day. It is their communication to and blessing of those who will watch and listen, creating a lasting gift before the long quiet sleep of winter.

While, I can only imagine this light transforming into song, I am sure the stars Hear the piece in its entirety. I am sure, the universe Hears the whole and wonders at the living language of the Earth's Forests. They have heard it when it started as a quiet murmur, moved to a grand middle, and then lingered into a gentle outro, They heard the leaves and hillsides shifting their colors to bend to the wind, the clouds, the rain, cascade to a crescendo of purity and delight, and linger in back roads, to rustle along river's edge, or blow strong on mountain ridges. Day after day, the trees Sang a song of praise for creation. The stars listened.

I almost entitled this piece : Prepared to awed by the song of the season. Instead, I chose a different quote. I hope you heard the music, or perhaps are hearing it still.

*

The Luminous light lingers on, in hillside, street curbs, riverbanks, and back yards, where the colors live on. Holding, holding, holding, the note, just a little longer. Here is how the song vibrates within me.

The trees' light pours into my soul as a song of praise,
Pouring out to the eternal creation of light
rippling in a field of love, and of divine rapture
offering gratitude to immortal fires of the gods and goddesses.

Courting the sky and cosmos with joy, beauty and love
Shifting the tides of our perception, and time.
Scattering their dreams among the stars.
Strumming the heart of one's very soul. pouring forth a rapture of delight and awe.
There is confidence and humility wrapped in these melodies. Joy and acceptance. Divinity and death.

*

Below are a few of the photos of this year's orchestra. Represented are:
Flaming boldness of sumac,
Shy ripples of streaking maple
Glowing popping yellows
Gentle reds in young maples
Dappled spotted green, yellows and reds
Dark oaks shifting to russet brownish reds and golds

•

When the birds have flown south, and the morning has slowed, when the garden has shifted from planting to culling; and I see morning grasses holding onto the dew long into the morning, when all these things combine, I know Autumn has arrived. This change always flummoxes me. My internal momentum machine has come to a full stop. I wander seeking an inner balance that feels illusive. The crickets still chime loudly, yet the days feel quiet. The trees still cling to greening the world, yet I feel a fatigue from their faded green.

As beautiful as the coming fall will be, I feel inadequate to ease into the shift gracefully, unsure of myself. My flow feels unwieldy. At times, the energy within can feel like an imminent annihilation, as if my slowing leads to a sense of death.

I suppose this discomfort may be due to having been born in the noon of the year when the berries are ripening, the sun waxing, and phloem in the trees dancing upward toward the branches. Growth during the anniversary of my arrival to the planet is abundant. Perhaps that is why I feel hardwired to relish the waxing of the light, the rushing of the wave, the bubbling up of the sap, the calling of the mating birds, the overflowing of verdancy. So when this abundance of flow slows, or in fact halts, when the pendulum swings to ebbing, my equilibrium goes off on its own adventure without me. Every year, I think, I am prepared for this pendulum to swing; This year, I think, I will ease gently, I will still more easily.

But no, not this year either. In the days leading to the Equinox, just before that bright passage, I was betwixt and between. At sixs and sevens, unmoored, adrift, sails flapping in the wind. Nosing around to sense the best ways forward for my next passage. Feeling untethered on the day of Equinox a few days ago (now, at time of editing this, a couple weeks ago,) I decided to simply get myself moving. Move feet and hands even if the purpose, the direction, and the fire were simply not present,

As I muddled along, I went outside, and looked up. I highly recommend this simple act: when lost, look up. The most glorious surprises have happened to me with this choice. That day, over head, was a brilliant fiery sunset. A sunset that felt like a promise of change, a gift of energy, and in its fading to gentle pink, a song of hope:

This Equinox sunset turned the wheel within, and once again, my heart sensed the beat, my feet knew their way.

Now, days later, the Autumn colors have arrived, the evenings crisp the air, the winds blow a fresh air. The leaves surrender to the shift as well, bringing out their full regalia of fire and light. The quiet feels joyful.

It took a fire in the sky to burn the summer endings away. To land me to the passage between light and shadow. To the gratitude of the beauty past, and the welcoming of the wisdom in the wind - and what treasures this wind brings. Now, surrender feels like relief.

Equinox has past, and I may still occasionally cling to the warmth of the sun, or linger at the water's edge, wishing to dive into its flow. Now, though, the landscape turns into a burning glow of color. Now, my sails have caught the winds of change

I hope this transition goes gently for you, and that as the breath of wind uplifts my heart, yours too will feel its blessings.

Happy belated Equinox

•

It all started with a particularly rainy Spring. A Spring that returned puddles to areas where I hadn't seen any in years, to pools that had left their imprint years before. Here, in one corner of the staff parking lot, a magical puddle grew into a thriving ecosystem.

At first, the water lapped out from the corner heedless of all boundaries, moving to where gravity pulled it. One industrious co-worker placed an orange cone as a reminder to other workers of where not to park. And that small gesture began the cascade of magic. We accommodated easily, moving through the pattern of our days, not noticing the puddle beyond a nod as we rushed into work. There, without observers, the silent transformation took place, right under our noses.

The summer grew warm, the days longer, the occasional rain fed the puddle. Farm mud drifted downstream into the puddle, helping to create a better buffer in the heat. And then one day, magic sparked: Millions and zillions of Tadpoles were spotted in the shallow puddle. A frog pond was born.

The gravel driveway hardly seemed hospitable for life. Yet as the spring rains continued, an ever-widening puddle turned gravel into weeds and mud, and the swimmers started their journey to land. What had started as a murky mucky hole of water, flowing in tire tracks left over from tractors, and snowplows, became a haven for amphibians. A pool for water baths.

With such an inauspicious beginning, and only a little support, a thriving viable eco-system emerged, or may I say, miraculously spawned forth.

I don't know when the frogs moved in to lay their eggs ~ probably when I was off duty. Eventually, to prevent farm trucks driving through this area to their fields, some wise person placed more red cones around the puddle - now vernal pool. Destruction adverted! And that seems to be all it took. I often wondered through the hot summer what magic that wise person performed when she casted the circle of cones. The trucks honored the no trespassing going around another way. The children gathered there to stomp in the mud and feel the tickling tadpoles. Amphibians lingered at the puddles' edge, practicing the use their new legs. Despite the difficult environment, the animals thrived and the water never dried up.

Nature took its course. Birds come to bathe now, grasses grow taller, frogs jump in and out, dragon flies zip around the perimeters. Somehow, with the magical spark for life, our little staff parking lot pool of water survived. Now, as Autumn approaches, the sun lowers in the sky, one would never know our little pool hadn't always been there for years.

With this transformation in less than 4 months, I can't help but wonder, what other miracles could we grow with gentle support and acceptance? What other miracles could we nurture into fertile paradise?

In this last photo you can see the four cattails that are growing in the pond more clearly. Where did those seeds blow in from? They are natural source of food for many wildlife come winter.

• 1 Comment

•

The quiet of August bring ~
crisp light
buzzing
wavy humid heat
roasting days, cool nights.
These changes create a yearning in me for stillness, for pausing, listening, watching it all. I sit to watch the trees and the sky, especially in the early morning and late day. These are the moments when the stillness, the cool breezes and the soft voices of the trees speak loudest.

The quiet is not a silence. There are many ambient sounds, quiet is a feeling sense.

I could tune in, toward the loud buzz of crickets, bees, and neighbors' trucks. Instead, I still myself and listen to the quiet.

I suppose quiet is a rare experience for some. In August, in Vermont, after the exuberance and movement of the planting times, project times, exuberance times, the days of August arrive with slowness, with sumptuousness. Luxury even.

I have notice too that the early migratory birds have moved on to new resting places. I miss these migrants such as the nesting thrush, the cheerful warblers, the exuberant grosbeaks, and the musical, if elusive indigo bunting. I do. I trust their path leads them to the next point of destination. And I turn my attention to who is present now.

In the ambient sounds, I hear the frogs, cricket and bees sing their songs, along with the hummingbirds who are casting for advantage in the defense of sugar. All these sounds and songs fill the airwaves. I also notice that the dragon-flies have multiplied in absence of the Spring birds. Perhaps their presence will help to lower the abundant supply of mosquitoes. One cycle leads to another. One rhythm shifts to a different cadence.

The bears aren't visiting either, or at least not much. I know they have distant blueberry fields on their summer itinerary . Wild and otherwise. They must be sitting in front of loaded berry bushes right now, as I write, with their back paws splayed in front of them, mouths and front paws tucking into the abundance of the season. Indeed, a friend confirmed this fancy recently, when she told me that a "gentle giant" was sitting in her grand-mama's blueberry field whenever she called to check in.

I have been quiet too. Tuning inward. The gentle, soft, sweet summer breezes urge me to do so. It's hard to try anything else. They bring scents complex in their quality both light and delicate. I often sit in my outdoor chair under the apple tree to listen, feel and smell. Today, I notice that the August sun illuminates every corner, bringing out all of the shadows in bold, bright relief. I notice that the heat would be pressing if not for the breezes in the tree-tops, bringing softness, soothing murmurs, sentient sighs. I savor the sound, smell and relief.

I was sitting in my chair like this a couple of weeks ago, when a visitor appeared: she is racoon with bold fearlessness And gentle eyes. She came frequently, and most often during my resting times: early mornings, and late day, just after and just before dusk. The rational and primal part of my brain reacted and worried., thinking, "this is wrong."
The rational fearful rambling in my head said: "She shouldn't be out before dark!"
The primal shrieking: "yikes!! she might hurt me!!"

I began to feel tense whenever I sat outside. I never knew when, but she would frequently poke her nose out from under the yurt while I sat or just as I stepped outside. She seemed pointedly determined to connect with me. She always waited for our eyes to connect before she moved away ~ "Not so close!!!!" I began say to her.

At first, I attempted the hard lines. No access to food, no nothing, no no.

Needless to say, this approach did not help one teeny bit to make me feel safer. Nor to affect her behavour. She still founds ways to peek around a corner and look at me. She still popped her head out from under the yurt. It became uncanny how she knew just when I was about to step outside. At those moments, she would give me a plea with her gentle eyes.

After a few days of comtemplating, I caved in. I explained to her that she scared me when she surprised me, so if she must come to the yurt, please to stay farther away from me, like over there near the bushes. And as a reward, I left a bit of food (don't tell) approximately ten feet from my door.

Remarkably, this dialogue worked. She stopped poking her nose out 12 inches from my stepping foot. She seemed to stay at least 10 feet away from me. I began to relax again, allowing peace to reign once more. Just as I stopped worrying, when I actually forgot about this engagement, when I was standing up to go inside after the sitting before dark, I happened to peek over to the right, over toward the said bushes and there, I saw my reward. Not only was the bold racoon quietly munching on left-over berries and seeds, along with her were four small round balls of fur. Fearless raccoon is a mama raccoon! No wonder the hunger and the urgent plea! She must of been starving while she was nursing these round healthy hoodlums that are now big enough to follow her everywhere.

Oh, the cuteness. I kept to the agreement and also stayed 10 feet away.

My lesson, pause, listen trust. Dialogue and then pause some more

If bothered, pause, ponder and trust again.

In that order.

The answers come. Not in the reactive bracing, but in the quiet, in the breeze.
If bothered, request and pause and the answers will come.

I am glad I caved in and trusted mama raccoon. I love watching this healthy family, watching the young ones grow healthy and wild. I am in awe that she vetted me, and I passed the test.

I apologize for the poor quality of the photos. I took the pictures quickly to avoid bothering them, and from the "10 foot plus distance" we had agreed upon. Blessings for us all.

• 1 Comment

•

All it took was one sultry June day for the cricket song and fireflies to emerge from their dark caves. At first, they chirped faintly from beneath their ferns and grasses; twinkled slowly in the deepening mist. Their arrival of giddy trilling, brough the final instrument for the orchestra of summer sounds.

The concert this year, includes peepers who announce themselves from their ponds, tree frogs who sing up high in exalted perches, bats calling with their high-pitched "skrees,", and trees who whisper summer songs from the canopy.

I have wanted to write these last few weeks many times, to share the little insights and gifts that arrive. Truly I have. During these weeks, I wanted to bring to you the abundance of Spring and Summer flowers that flowed into fullness, to discuss the nettles emerging into harvest, describe the trees draping their leaves luxuriously, to mention how the breezes of each season smell, sound and feel differently, and how their scents shift within the days, to describe the softness of Spring Earth. Or, today, driving home, the magic of light peeks through leaves and clouds in streams or waves of plasma.

All these images I wished to transcribe, yet before I could sit, a new wonder would appear to capture my wonder. My hand could not convey the moving essences with enough alacrity, so abundant and varied were the gifts. Have we, this year experienced the first full flow of Spring? Ushering in a time of magic?

With the heat, the crickets began to sing the ancient call of the wild, bringing me to gratitude and presence. The sweetness of crickets' early arrival fills the air, when it is only just hot enough for them to chime and not yet disappear into the background of sounds. It mingles and hums along with the other chirps of the season. This moving wave of sound reflects the rippling resplendent wave of life that is carried in the breezes of June. Here, and now, the orchestra teases the ear inviting one to slip in between the dimensions where one hears the vast whole, and simultaneously the minute individual. Where one can see beneath the veil in the trees to the hidden light just below vision. Where magic is possible, ands past meets future. Enter into the magic of the breezes, of the sounds and scents, the light, and rain, and the clouds.

Right now, scents drift in through my door on the draughts of timelessness, expanding and contracting with to sounds, expressing the vastness within which we swim. Inviting us all to swim, sense and feel.

Happy Solstice

"The Vastness is bearable only through Love" Anonymous

•

The rains arrived the night before the New Moon, the darkening sky opened. the winds blew a foreboding amount of rain, and came in with hurricane force. blowing through the forest, moving up, over and around the yurt, the way a charybdis leading a team of horses might sound. As a result, that night, I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, feeling disturbed and disrupted by the sounds of change. I could hear that the waters had created new channels through the land, releasing winter under the pressure and was flowing freely into new streams.

I awoke that day with a churning lodged in my belly. The rains quieted, but the winds blew strong. My body sluggish, not so free as the wind, had not yet purged all its winter sediment. The tug of war felt like a stomach ache. Abrupt structural changes often make me uncomfortable. I suspect that is common. New things can create new feelings. The new feelings rushed around, in and through me that New Moon day, as I adjusted to the changing seasons, the changing weather, and the changing times.

The water from the same storm, melted half of the permafrost in my garden, resulting in sheets of water that emerged from just under the snow belt on the other side of the garden. This water joined the rest of the downpour and moved as one downstream to the rivers below. I knew better than to try to change the flow of all this water, so I simply watched. As I look out of my window, I ponder all this change and realize ~ Water knows where it wants to flow, it will sort itself out. I, to will sort myself out. For example, I'll need new bridges to traverse these floods. I'll need to walk gingerly on this changing field.

So gingerly, I walk into the forest, to visit my trees where the sap also flows strong and into colorful maple buckets. I am so grateful for the abundance of this sap, the sweetness that accumulates one drop at a time. This comforting and predictable change brings grounding to me. I welcome the bitter cold that comes tonight. It will bring the waters that rise from deep within the tree, and eventually gift me with more sugar water tomorrow. The abundance of sap also provides me with an opportunity to sit quietly near a wood stove watching water evaporate. A slow meditative process such as this, results in magical sweet alchemy within and without. Quick change can happen. These days, I seem to prefer the slow ones.

During times of purging, it is comforting to have a meditative process that relaxes the systems, slows me down and brings focus to my now. All other noise, including the winds, disappear. I feel my inner timing slow, as the steam rises from the sap. I drink another cup of tea and watch sap evaporate. As things get louder in the woods, I get stiller, watching waters change to sweetness. I wouldn't skip March in Vermont for anything. This time brings an alchemy that allows for my inner transformation as the outer world changes too.

The month of March, when the winds blow, the weather can change in minutes, surprising us with its abruptness. And yet, the prize of grace and sweetness awaits on the other side of great fire. Equinox arrives this weekend. The earth and sky in a balance. Today, I leave room for simplicity, for quiet and for stillness, to find the inner balance. The sun rises a little farther north today and each day until solstice. Each day will bring the possibility of a little more warmth and radiance stirring new fires for a new path.

~

I dedicate this post to Pam Bernard, a friend, and a supporter of me and many writers. Thank you Pam. We will miss your insights. I hope I may occasionally sense them in the ethers.
So much love to all.

•

Water arrives in abundance these days, to convey a strong point. There is an abundance of water floating, freezing, thawing, fogging and then freezing again. I hear that other parts of the world are floating in similar unexpected bounteous (copious) amounts of water. So, as I mentioned, it seems, water is systematically working to convey a strong clear message. What might it be? and are we hearing it?

After a very cold winter, a large snow storm arrived a few weeks ago, covering us all, from northern maritimes to mid-atlantic in one contiguous crystaline thick blanket of water. Some parts of the eastern shore received more than authorities knew what to do with. The snowflakes swept across the land in an awe-inspiring sweep of a storm.

Just as the storm started, I took a picture, seen above, of the first few flakes of snow. Perfect paragons of frozen crystals. The snow fell all day and night in eddies of these tiny snowflakes. I wondered how could these microscopic crystals ever accumulate enough to bring dunes of water to us all? It seems like pure elemental magic. I felt awe watching one storm cover such a vast expanse, as well as so many individuals. There are a few things that bind us together as much as a snowstorm. According to the tea bag that I am synchronistically drinking this very moment, William Shakespeare wrote - "one touch of nature, makes the whole world kin." And that seems to me, to be the message.

We are one family - The gentle and not so gentle element of water is touching each one of us across many timelines and boundaries, communicating a message of connection. One field of light and water, embracing us all. The touch I feel on my stocking feet is contiguously connected to the water beneath all life in this sweep of land. The water I touch, blessed the feet of both a wandering mystic and the mother waiting at the bus-stop alike. This frozen water crowds the streets of metropolis and blankets the mountains. The same message embraces us all, kissing our skin, passing with whispered conversation the magic of a melting snowflake.

Now, the snow rests on the earth like a protective holder. We walk, skate or simply slide along on one immense puddle of frozen water.

And when this frozen water melts, which she is beginning to do, she will flood our feet once more as she moves downhill, in a rushing wave to meet the ocean once more. Rushing to join the larger field of water there. While there, she brings her wisdom, touch and blessings to the inhabitants of the water. She will brush along the boat of my brother and sister; she will sing with the whales who have recently calved; she will reflect the clouds to the expansive sky. We are all connected by this one river winding element of water who whispers to us - so let's be still and listen. Let's quiet our busy minds and hands to hear the meanings given to each of. Listen between the known, to the unknown places of stillness, and hear the love, and magic. What messages do you hear today?

There is a little puddle today outside my door from the warm early Spring sun. That water glistens in the sun, broadcasting its living intelligence to the stars above, carrying the intelligence of life, transforming all.

So, I say, if this snow, touches so many, earthlings and star beings alike, than I wish to bless the abundance of this water that it may carry my good wishes to all, bringing all to perfect union, carrying my wishes of good health, wellness and peace.

Thank you for beauty, for slowing me down to see, for nourishing the forest and gardens to be, for bringing blessings and kindness, on a stream of light, and wonder.

Bless you dear water, thank you for arriving right on time. Bless you as you travel to your next destination, and bless all you touch, now, and in the days to come.

Drift on, flow on. Carry on.

So much love.

• 4 Comments

•

There's nothing quite like watching Ravens in flight. In my neighborhood, these avian masters take their role on the hill quite seriously, commandeering their landscape with agility.
On a recent day, I spied them overhead, in the task of learning graceful new tricks of exceptional daring.

I was so entranced that I forgot to take a photo, though I watched for over a half hour.
Maybe the sight captivates me, because I remember having those wings myself, in some other time, in some other form. Or maybe I watch in awe because I remember the physical sensation of the breeze under my wings, the joy of multi-dimensional planes of movement, the ability to simply rise in freedom. In this form, transfering from land dweller to the sky happened without thought, and with simply an exhale. Maybe this remembrance of flying returns to us, to a time past, when we flew with the Angels.

The path I took that day echoed with the freshly fallen snow. The day blew windy and cold from a new arctic front; the trees stood stark and dark against the deep blue sky. When I saw this wild blue sky day, I felt called to explore the snowy paths in the woods. The Ravens, when they saw this same blue-sky day, they felt the call to take flight. And fly they did, rising effortlessly to greet the elements of the wind, sun, and trees.

While flying, they called to each other loudly, demonstrating their skills of twirling, and tumbling through the air. Twisting, turning, and tango-ing with and over each other in glee. The chatty ravens shared the air ecumenically. Not letting anyone leader speak louder than the other. They are experienced collaborators on this hill. Not competitors. Laughing in the wind, to the wind, to me, to each other. They rise, float, and shift easily in the wind that gusted up to 40 mph. To them, a windy winter day came as a gift of from heaven. I always feel pure awe while watching flying lessons in progress.

At first, I spied them between the tree limbs, when I only saw three in flight, floating effortlessly. Soon, another group came in view, and a total of seven calling ravens rose and fell in patterns that suited their heart's joy of the moment. They appeared to be practicing skills that maybe they had learned in lighter winds. At times, they flew wing to wing. At other times, without notice, one or two would gracefully branch off to some unknown point of interest, only to quickly rejoin overhead, making new configurations and matching in new spirals of infinity. They laughed as they played with one another. Today, the ravens clearly loved the flying conditions, as though the gusting winds offer a special challenge for their balance, prowess and sentience.

My spectatorship was active in the woods, as I had to move from left to right and back to be able to see their antics as they climbed up, down and over the trees.

I wonder if these are the siblings born a few years ago, who once moved through the woods like restless teenagers. I wonder if the ones I see are teaching younger cousins their daring antics. Or maybe they are parents teaching new fledglings the tricks of the hill. Whoever they be, they have become congenial, graceful, gentle flying coaches modeling perfect harmony in flight.

Incidentally, they knew I was there. Whenever I returned to walk forward on my path, they chortled, making make ever wider circles, to include me in their view. I laughed to hear them discuss matters of such altitude. Concerns of the higher realms, while I remained grounded beneath the leafless landscape, with the trees who bent and bowed in the wings of the wind. My path led to the hill top where, maybe I could see a new vista from a relatively higher altitude. Their vistas must have been tremendous. Their joy was infectious. I felt intimacy with their joy.

If I could, I would continue this conversation, and share in their joy. So, I offer a prayer to them here:

Dear Dear Raven, I promise to remember flying with joy, and to sing with laughter,
I promise to imagine the views from higher perspective.
And I promise to you, to keep communicating with you as a neighbor on this hill,
and to keep my heart open to the winds that blow strong and clear even on cold winter days.

The winds do blow stronger now, reasserting themselves and the sense of winter, after the brief reprieve. And yet... And yet, I feel something has shifted. I feel a new spark in the air.
The sense of wind working hard to reassert control, the sense the sun, which is both a tad higher in the sky and lingers a little longer with us each day bring with it a greater sense of light. I also sense the waters rising in the earth to feed the creeks below the snow's surface. I hear the sounds of the gentle birds tentatively try out their new mating songs. A new day is dawning.

~*~

A postscript: This morning, after writing the above piece, I saw a special gift. When I went out early to feed the birds, dawn was just growing. I do this often, and it is quite peaceful. As I finished spreading the seed, I heard the whoosh-whoosh, whoosh of large wings overhead. I looked up to discover, not a few, not 12, but 22 ravens flying directly overhead! They flew strong and clear, directly East.
Twenty-two of these masters in flight! Together in company of each other as family. Twenty-two, a number associated with both mastery, and with Avatar consciousness. These are not small synchronicities, or coincidences. But momentous signs. The woods are waking, the year arriving with mastery.
Blessings to you

•

The rains brought a blanket of warmth, relaxing our nervous systems, inviting the soft animal within to receive waters of nourishment. After a season of unusual bitter cold, this warmth and moisture brought similar to a feeling of annointing. This annointment comes from the stars of old bringing in new light to see in the dark

The clouds brought in this song of water, sprinkling it here and there, left and right, spraying us as if from an censor or aspergil spreading the rites of extra new moon darkness.

In this new moon baptism, the old stories, wounds, and paths are washed away. Hushing our fears, quieting our nerves, nourishing our souls in time for the coming day of December Solstice.

Now, Solstice arrives, the time when the sun stands still and the light is reborn, our souls give birth to new miracles of gentleness, possibility. What miracle are you birthing this season? What is your heart dreaming?

Let the light that is returning now, fill you with hope and expectation of joy. Let it lift you. Let the rains from the cosmos nourish you.

Feel into the winds that blow in the change, feel into the clouds that cover us with grace, feel into the waves that tickle you, feel into your now. Be one with yourself. And simply let what is left here now, Be

Much love

Blessings on your solstice emerging light

•

The leaves linger high on the trees, mostly on the oak trees. Even after a grand wind storm, like the one we had recently, I can still spy a few leaves up high here and there. In their gentle rustlings, I hear them laughing as they discuss the latest news with the passing season's breezes. They call to me to be outside with them, to enjoy the passing of this time, and not to shrink away from the deepening cold.

The colors that were once gold and red, with hints of green, under a canopy of burnished gold have subdued into the browns of late Fall. Earlier this year, the greens low, mixing with the gold and red high in the canopy created an impression of glowing light. A Glow that suffused the forest. Now, the eye finds burnished reds, coppers and browns below, all layering the earth with a cozy blanket of remembering for winter dreams. The ground is a mosaic of conversations, ones that were once held high above our heads.

The winter birds have moved in too. They are robust, courageous, fast, flying in for food on frosty mornings and chatty. Chirping happily, as they glean from the late summer windfalls, diving in and around the larger birds who voraciously, gulp down their seeds. No one but the squirrel lingers long.

Today, I have found a window of spaciousness, letting me sit quietly with the birds. Together, we revel in the afternoon sun. My seat, in the sun, is removed enough from activities to provide the space they need.

I have brought two chairs out with me to share in the luxury. open for possible guests from Spirit. They may like to sit and marvel with us in the magic of a warm afternoon. Elementals, angels and other beloved ones may join as they please. These are seats of honor in the garden of Fall warmth. I share in the company of gratitude and beauty. Grateful for this magic, I thank the breeze; I share my love with the trees, and wish the birds good health.

The wind moves through from time to time, jostling the trees in the forest, and chiming the notes of rustling leaves, who rustle, sigh and surrasate nearby.

Soon, the bold colors of browns that linger, will also lay down and rest. Soon, the beeches and oaks will relinquish their remaining leaves, offering them like gifts to the breeze, golden notes fluttering to the sky, released before the winter rains, and snows. Guides of the season. For we too have gifts to release. Experiences that have had their story told, and can return to the earth. Stories that made sense for a season and now, seem no longer needed.

I want to create from this abundant beauty that surrounds me in magic today. Trusting the flow of life and the angels that carry me. Blow through me, breeze of magic, like the winds in the trees. Release the old unneeded rhymes, release the old stories of pain and disharmony. Let the spirit grow gentle and peaceful in the coming quiet that winter brings. Quiet as the trees in the deepening night, and the browning of earth.

I hope that you too, dear readers, find moments of quiet and stillness to listen to the breeze, listen to the stars, and listen to the deepening this season brings.

So much love