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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~

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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.

*

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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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 in this season. I awake and feel an uncommon pause. And at day's end, I watch the setting sun lingering slowly on horizon's edge, as though though the sun kiself, does not wish to leave the gentle earth's presence, just not yet. Then later, the night eases in quietly and ever so slowly. As this dark time arrives, the dance of life sparkles with fireflies and evening sprites. Through the night there is a dancing light. This year, a moon waxes to full Strawberry blessings.

These bodies of the universe, pausing within the dance of stillness.

My days unfold in this pause, I awake to gentle chirping of a pair of cardinals landing by the feeder, the busy buzz of hummingbirds drinking, the quieter buzz of bees in search of nectar. This soft hum of activity contrasts the greater gentle stillness beyond us all. Awe waxes easily in the grace of this season.

The heat also waxes this week, making movement difficult. My cat’s meow turns into a croak, I seek breezes to help me breathe. I anticipate day ahead that will build in heat with the increased presence of the sun. Plan? To simply sweat and find a way to keep cool.

As I prepare for this slowness in heat, I hear a surprise. I hear thunder.
Magnificent, glorious, heavenly thunder.

My body trilled in hope and anticipation and sure enough the skies, unexpectedly, gratifyingly opened up, releasing a wild torrent of water, drenching everyone of us with cooling blessed water. I ran out and danced in my warm weather clothes getting soaked to the skin before it ended, squealing with delight.

My energy completely changed
I heard the lesson for me in this moment: unknown blessing can arrive at any moment. Where we are and how it seems, can change faster than we know. In this moment of pause, before the unfolding of the next season, a new possibility has arrived with blessings. I wonder, what other new gifts and possibilities might the season bring? With this new lesson, I will pause and seek the tiny gifts of grace that may peek around any moment.

Happy Solstice dear friends 🌞
Wishing you new possibilities of expression and gifts of magic.