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.