We had the big rain come through
the northeast this week. The next day, in my area, a remnant rain squall
quickly blew across the ridge where I live above a river.
The skies rapidly darkened from
patchy clouds to a dark roiling gray. The wind intensified as it twisted,
twirled, and gusted sending fallen leaves back up into the barren tree branches
only to fall again. A pelting rain punctuated the squalls passage.
The sight through my picture window
was mesmerizing and deeply spiritual in the ever present portal to nature. It
reminded me of a passage in The Immortal Wilderness, by the late naturalist
John Hay.
He wrote: “There are occasions when
you can hear the mysterious language of the Earth, in water, or coming through
the trees, emanating from the mosses, seeping through the undercurrents of the
soil, but you have to be willing to wait and receive.”
If you’ve never tasted the aroma of
a pine forest after a summer rain you are missing a Divine connection to the
Source. If you’ve never sat in a blooming rose garden, or watched a stubble
field fill up with snow or just listened to the wind in the silence of a
moonlight walk. You are missing what Mr. Hay is talking about.
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