the cove

there is an invitation to come high to this hilltop,

walk slow and soft and dance my fingertips on the faces of the Queen Ann's lace,

move soft and slow through the cornflower blue and the rain wet grass.

this is the place where the family of turkey parades each day; the little ones ducking low like rabbits, the parents extending tall and wide like bears.

this is the place where the doe bounds in the dark of night, up from the forest, to watch the fire dance and to listen to prayers.

this is the place where the moon yawns wide,smiling..waking.

it is here that the mystery of rabbits and crows sing each morning and each night

and, sometimes, if I am lucky, in the middle of the summer day.

and bears come, too.

and, hawks.

There are bright circles, still, in the sky where they flew.

Once before, I sat, legs folded under me, on the back porch right after a sea of rain. I was huddled in, somewhere between melancholia and gratitude; in the vicinity of joy and grief.

The earth was hissing with steam and delight.

The trees swayed with the effusive embrace of water.

Across the field below me, anchored in a downpour of gray, flew a great blue heron.

The road became sand, the wind became wave.

I was home again, next to the times before.

Just me, alone and accompanied by all the vast yesses; all the reasons to stay and taste this life a little longer, a lot longer. The greatness of the grand design apparent in a breath; the hand on my back in case I stumbled.

In that simple sky crossing, the ocean, the Grandmother, came smiling to share the secrets of a late afternoon. We sat awhile, talking, not talking....and, listening.

Oh blessings be and gratitude wide to the beings that bring such beauty and truth.