A line cast, a hope followedTuesday, April 27, 2004
I watch the storm sweeping its way towards me. A flicker calls out it's warning from high up the cypress tree, then flies down to flatten itself against the grass, it's beak jack-hammering the ground for bugs in a last minute foray for food while the rain makes it's way forward. The chickadees in the camellia seek shelter from the gusts of wind which rustle the leaves and their feathers until a quieter spot is found. The sky grows darker but occasionally the swiftly moving clouds leave a break for the sun to re-ignite the vivid yellow of the daffodils, the cotton candy pink of the flowering cherries. I can smell the wetness in the air, the chill in the breeze betraying the last rays of warmth before the clouds fully shift the world to softness and gray. My cats dart back and forth across the yard chasing each other, tearing up tree trunks and scrabbling up bark, while the steady tinkle of the wind chimes on the front porch takes up where the flicker has left off announcing the change in the weather. I have sat searching for meaning this morning, once again trying to understand the way things are, but I've long since left off now and pay attention only to the shifting world around me here, the simple wait for the rain to begin, the quiet observance of nature anticipating change. There is no struggle or questioning why, nor should I. The mother of all of us lies warm beneath me, welcoming the water which will soften the ground and open her seeds. I am not needed for this world unfolding, but as I hold it sacred so am I sacred also, and it is enough.
