SeaHeart

We are at the cabin on the lakeshore with Pete and Katie and Gareth, on our writing retreat. Being so close to the water, even if it isn't salt, is so soothing to me. I spent a large portion of today, in between blissful bouts of writing, at the water's edge, walking on the rocks, watching the waves roll in.

A storm has descended along with the dark. The wind roars around the little cabin, the trees move to and fro, and it is magic. A little while ago, even though it was pitch black outside, I had to take a walk, to taste the rain, to watch the whitecaps roll. It was one of the most bewitching things I have ever been witness to, and I was humbled, spelled and in awe of it.

So far out, the waves began, tossing and shaking and jubilant, roaring, roaring. They crashed closer and closer until they hit the rocks beneath the escarpment, and then again and again and again, relentless. The wind roared about me, the clouds raced, and the entire earth seemed to be speaking, not words, but a sparking jubilation.

I took a walk along the little dirt road beside the escarpment, digging my hands into my pockets. The trees roared here louder than the water, a gigantic sigh. The power of the wind, of the water, the branches flying...it made me feel so small, and yet so vibrant. Here I was, walking along these paths, wrapped in my own thoughts and stories, and the tempest raged about me, exultant and powerful and primal. The waves and rain merged together, and the magic spun and grew.

Somewhere, the stars swing, quiet and bright. But tonight, the earth is alive in revelry, and all beings and elements raise their voices in celebration of a new year born.

Last night, after we got home from a lovely dinner party with Maddie and Jared, I walked the dogs. It was late and so, so warm--the sweet, sharp scent of changing leaves had merged with the grass from the meadows, from the wind, from the moving branches. Clouds scuttled across the sky and over the face of the almost full moon.

It was Poesy's turn, and we walked out into the meadow together, intent on moonbathing. I lay down on a bed of hay and looked up at that heavenly, silver creature. Poesy nestled up to my stomach, and sighed contentedly, and we stayed there for a very long time. I didn't think of anything--I just stared up at the moon, at the clouds, at the countless stars and velvet black of the night, at the face of the Goddess everywhere, in all these things, and my heart soared, with gratitude, with love. My cup overflowed with it all, and we lay and we moonbathed in the silver light, the cicadas singing sweetly...it was the purest magic.

Poesy got bored with my silent joy and nudged my hand. I sat up, drew her into my lap and said: "it's all so beautiful, isn't it, baby?" She licked her face, wagged her tail, hopped off my lap, ready to go on to the next adventure.

I rose, too, and blew a kiss to the moon, my heart full.

And so, the Summer Queen stepped away and down, and Autumn--sweet Autumn, in all her resplendence, took the throne.

Hail, my beloved Autumn~ <3 Hail, Mabon~

I'm sitting outside, feet bare and dug deep into the soft grasses. Overhead, branches interlace, tree hands holding one another up against the sun...it's like a stained glass window, sunshine pouring through the thin green. There are tiny puffs floating through the air; spiderwebs, woven through the branches, occasionally sparkle. The thick trunks of pines rise up, towering above me, surrounding me. A little bit away is a hawk's nest. The babies keep calling to her, and she'll wheel back, come and nuzzle them (perhaps reprimand them for their crying...I wish I spoke Bird). Everything is so warm and softly edged and delicate and beautiful with the bees buzzing from tiny flower to tiny flower, and the trees growing ever higher, though it's something you can't even see. I feel like I'm in a faerie world, a magical place, hallowed ground, but outside this thicket there are buildings and corporate offices, pavement and concrete, street lamps and idling cars. Even here, there's the hum of my laptop, the clear glass of my water, my Ganesh bracelet that I've set down in the grass so I can type better. But the magic doesn't mind. It grows, despite these influences, it tangles itself ever higher toward the sun, spreading vines down onto the sidewalk, growing closer toward Man and his paths.

A bee, giant, bumble, drifts closer to my bare foot, pauses on a grass stem. "You shouldn't be able to fly," I tell him, smiling. "That's what they say." His cheerful buzzing, the way he pauses, as if relaxing for a long, cool moment...it's as if he is a lesson, in and of himself. But what am I to a bumblebee? He probably doesn't even see me, know I'm here. When we look for messages, for magics, in the hawk and the cloud and the bee...what if they're looking for magic in us?

The bumblebee leaves, flying. Scientists say it's impossible for a bumblebee to fly, and he spends every moment of his life proving them wrong.

A tiny moment, out of time. Which I share with you~ <3