Sunday March 3, 2019
It’s that perfect rainy day; the chill is gone from the air and even the raindrops cling to branches to stay for as long as possible on their way back into the earth. Small crystal globes that sparkle as they slide with regret to the ground, forgetting once again, that the fall is sheer bliss and, if you listen, you can hear them squeal, plummeting with delight. Hummingbirds dart between droplets, wings thrumming, red throat shimmering. For such small birds their enchantment is boundless.
It is one of those days that, as I sit here almost touching the rain, I can see the forest thick with trees, the grasses greening and shooting upward toward the coming spring. Centuries of it. Rocks buried deep in the earth gripped by leviathan tree roots, holding all in place. Fallen leaves and branches, soft now from time, send up a dense mineral scent padded with life that lies beneath, that holds this all in place. Such magic is this, this rainy day.
It is a day like this that I remember to breathe in and then out. I feel the waves, far from here, pull in and out, the trees reaching, the endlessness of earth opening up to include me in it’s wonder. I hope that I tread softly enough that when I leave, I remember to squeal on the fall and return to being part of what holds us up. I am reminded not to cling too tightly and to dart between raindrops and to reach for the spring. I am reminded it is that simple and that we have constructed everything else; which will eventually lie beneath the earth, softening and, side by side with past great things, yield to the trees and the raindrops.