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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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The Sunflower bends to greet the morning sun. From where I sit, she faces away from me this morning, leaning a little as if in anticipation. The companion plant, the mullein, who grew next to her, both volunteers in a garden of onions, remains upright and solid. They await illumination.

There is a young hummingbird at the feeder now. She feeds with gusto and is clearly not sure of the protocols. Sometimes, another female shoos her away. The other adult is frankly very half-hearted about the scolding, not making much fuss about sharing this feeder. Perhaps this is a game for them. Or maybe the somersaults are a training of sorts. Mostly, they have a truce and share the feeder easily - I also think one of them is sitting on eggs. The older one only visits me in the beginning and the end of the day.

In between, I have a wide assortment of other visitors. Many of whom, have not often visited my feeder this summer. Maybe they visited at other times, when I am normally at work. Today, I have devoted the day to sitting on my front doorstep to watch the comings and goings of life in my garden. Here is the log ~

Mourning doves arrive, and who by sheer size, these shy creatures actually subdue the resident chipmunks - no small feat to convince them to share the abundance.

Baby Juncos also fly in, accompanied by parent. Hello, sweet Junco!!! I have not seen you fly here since Spring!

Mama Cardinal also swings by for a quick snack, chirping loudly, as they do.

And Goldfinches too.. But, they did Not scare the chipmunks and therefore, did not dally long. Nor do the chickadees.

I woke early in hopes of hearing the catbird and thrush who have serenaded the forest in the dawn hours until a few weeks ago. Maybe they are quiet now because they sit on nests. I hope so. I listen diligently for the thrush, knowing they will migrate soon, and have heard them in the deep woods. I hope their nests have been successful and their progeny and those of the other birds here in the forest thrive and multiply.
With their presence I feel abundant.

The dragonflies manage the mosquitoes, mostly. The butterflies flock to the flowers. This range of color and diversity feeds me. Together we comprise an ecosystem, of which I am a singular part. And together we flourish and thrive. Together we build abundance.

I hear rains may come tomorrow ~
to cool the earth and put out mental fires.
To drench us in balms of ease
Our skin, like the earth's needs this soothing coolness.
We welcome the rain's calming influence.

Until then, watching the birds stills me. Allowing my tight nervous system to relax and flow. The birds bring me ease, wonder and beauty. I find, that Watching them commingle, in their paths, and on their flyways, helps me lean into trust, to trust in the paths in my own life, seen and unseen. Their blissful presence reminds me in this moment, that sometimes, it is better to simply trust, dive in and sing. I'll lean into this good wisdom today.

Notice the pink queen's anne lace in the above photo. I think pink, that comes in to welcome the day and night is a miracle

Love you all so much. Thank you for reading and supporting this blog. More to come soon

Namaste

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Spring unfurls in layers of expressive green and astonishing blossoms. The abundant herbs who I collect for teas, thrive well after the generously rainy month. I present a photo montage to demonstrate the unveiling of this Flourishing Spring, illuminating life.

Spring Beauty ~

quiet wood violet ~

trout lily ~

"The dandelion will grow through tarmac, through concrete and I have even seen a Dandelion growing in the vent on a car bonnet!! "
My days collection ~

Painted trillium hiding deep in mysterious woods ~

Some plants grow at speed of sound at times, and multiply with ease. They gather, congregate, share, forgive and grow some more.

A beautiful quote from Danu ~ "The plants that grow on the edges, on the wild side of things, are the toughest and sassiest plants we have. They have tenacity, courage, determination and a “I’ll do it my way” kind of attitude. They cannot be confined, they cannot be erased, they cannot be put down."

The unfurling fiddlehead emerging with grace from deep spidery webs.

May their legacy thrive and multiply.

The lady slipper who's habitat was subject to clear cutting - I spotted this queen a few weeks ago, robustly returning after resting in the soil to wait for better times. These are better times.

one week later ~

Flowers in the sky ~

Blessings for your late Spring and early summer. May you find the medicine from the earth, and reciprocate with gratitude. "Flourishing is mutual."

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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~