We are having the most spectacular late winter storm tonight. There is thunder and lightening, pouring rain, and rolling fog. As soon as the booming began, my face was all a-grin. I peeked outside and saw the low-lying clouds settling just above the drifts of snow, and I couldn't resist.
I bolted outside, barefoot (but clothed, unfortunately), and lay on my back in the mud that had already formed in the path from house to garage. There was no interest in Journeying. I simply wanted to be there. Some unidentifiable, unexplainable thrill had overtaken me at the vision of my piece of earth rumbling and shrouded, lit only occasionally by the indigo spark of lightening. I could not see the stars. I could not make out the black silhouette of Mother Maple. There was only the whisper of mist across my skin and the wet embrace of the ooze beneath me. It was magnificent. (And cold.) I rose and ran through the rain until I stopped shivering. I listened to the cacophony of tinny pings as the billions of drops hit the metal roof over the patio. I let those billions of drops fall on my shoulders.
Then I fell to my knees in awe and worship.
It seems such a simple thing, really. Perhaps it's simply that there has been change that filled me up so with the wonder of it all. Just days ago the snow had fallen soft and still. There is so much quiet in the winter--not silence, but a hush. I love those days and cherish them for what they are, but tonight was something else entirely! My body is still humming with the stimulation. Sometimes it just seems so damn obvious that I need look no further than the very ground I stand on to find my reason for being and the spark that set my heart to beating.