Last night there was a beautiful storm. There have been so many beautiful storms lately. I went out into the wind and rain and thundering black of sky and let it all rake and yank at me in all directions. My hair lifted up off my neck in a glittering screech and I’m sure I had a pair of owls fly out of both ears. It was a wild tempest and I loved every moment of it.
This morning, I awoke to clear skies and grass still wet with rain. I found myself longing for a bit of communion with nature so I flopped down on the ground, pressed my back into the green and stretched out my arms, palms up, with the sky full in my face and my wet, rumpled hair draped around me like a halo that needed drying in the sunshine. I shut my eyes and took in the world, sense by sense, I felt myself lifting and sinking to the feelings, sounds and scents around me. I lay there like that, hearing the bird song, the wind in the tree fingers and feeling the heat of the sun pushing though my eyelids. I was a part of everything. When I opened my eyes and propped myself up on my elbows the hill behind the pasture was wriggling with the tawny gold of deer, a young buck in velvet was thinking about pillaging my garden and two hummingbirds were doing battle with each other above the flower garden. Everything kept on, as it was, as though I was a wild thing too. And I suppose I am.