This morning, curled up in my chair with my second cup of coffee, I heard an almost-forgotten sound: the sweet patter of raindrops. Blessed rain -- a welcome visit from a long-lost friend after the horrendous drought that Texas has endured this summer. The Navajos would call this morning's rainfall a female rain: Silver beads fell straight down, softly nourishing our parched earth, without the bluster and boom of male rain.
I couldn't wait to get out and breathe the damp air, and walk through my beloved woods. So I pulled on my wellies,
whistled for my big boys to tromp through puddles with me,
and headed down a forest path.
This path leads in roundabout way to the site of my future studio. I love this wooded glade. Lately I've found myself wandering out here just to listen to the wind in the trees, and dream of a white-walled studio filled with colorful fabric and beads. (Soon, very soon, let it be!)
A few steps away is an ancient tree ladder which today looks softened by the rain.
All manner of fungi have popped through the damp earth where yesterday there were none at all,
and the rain knocked loose some Sasquatch-size acorns.
The birds' abodes are soggy but still seem water-tight,
and I can almost hear my flowers singing after their shower.
Just as I was returning home, the sun broke through clouds and gave me a peek of blue skies.
There's a nip in the air; I think the cold front heralded by this morning's rain is knocking on our door. Maybe this will be a hot chocolate evening. I hope your evening is peaceful, friends. Have a blessed Thanksgiving, however you may celebrate.
