22 Oct 2017
And so after the rain.....
The baby dragonflies on the water are dancing, like miniature helicopters is a constant hypnotic race. Frogs are singing gently with muffled throats and rhythmic popping as buttered corn. Sunshine on the porch is drying out the dampness after a week or so of constant wet, with a muted musty smell of mould. The bottom pond is rippling in the morning breeze, throwing me a Monet reflection of lime green from the orchard floor.
A peace is cocooning me in the morning warmth with tangible calmness. Little sparkles of light are flickering off a small rivulet of water still running from upper dam, flowing delicately creating a shimmering tiny waterfall in morning sun. Grass now engulfed in rain water is spiking up and out of the dam edges with rusty yellows and soft emerald greens. The dam is aching with new life.
A cloud passes over head, diluting my Monet momentarily. The breeze picks up cooling my ankles and lost raindrops fall intermittently from porch above, which still leaks, but is not a worry. Life is good. Life is here. All around me I can feel life, feel peace.
Mother hen and chick idle past. Little baby bottom, of ten day old grey fluff, a mirror image of mummies, poked aimlessly upward now as head is down, copying mummy and learning with each peck. Life in a ball of fluff, it can now happily feed itself, but is never more than a wingspan from mummy. John Wayne struts along, softly growling as a crow swoops past; he gathers his girls together. Protection of life in technicolour gold and green.
The clouds are tinged with a greyness, a tell tale sign that more rain is coming. But right now, right here, a gorgeous blue sky is winking through at me, so clear and true like God's iris, looking inwards and downwards with love. So beautiful is that blue, the fog of depression has lifted and I can see and smell clearly. Clarity has returned.
And so after the rain.....
The baby dragonflies on the water are dancing, like miniature helicopters is a constant hypnotic race. Frogs are singing gently with muffled throats and rhythmic popping as buttered corn. Sunshine on the porch is drying out the dampness after a week or so of constant wet, with a muted musty smell of mould. The bottom pond is rippling in the morning breeze, throwing me a Monet reflection of lime green from the orchard floor.
A peace is cocooning me in the morning warmth with tangible calmness. Little sparkles of light are flickering off a small rivulet of water still running from upper dam, flowing delicately creating a shimmering tiny waterfall in morning sun. Grass now engulfed in rain water is spiking up and out of the dam edges with rusty yellows and soft emerald greens. The dam is aching with new life.
A cloud passes over head, diluting my Monet momentarily. The breeze picks up cooling my ankles and lost raindrops fall intermittently from porch above, which still leaks, but is not a worry. Life is good. Life is here. All around me I can feel life, feel peace.
Mother hen and chick idle past. Little baby bottom, of ten day old grey fluff, a mirror image of mummies, poked aimlessly upward now as head is down, copying mummy and learning with each peck. Life in a ball of fluff, it can now happily feed itself, but is never more than a wingspan from mummy. John Wayne struts along, softly growling as a crow swoops past; he gathers his girls together. Protection of life in technicolour gold and green.
The clouds are tinged with a greyness, a tell tale sign that more rain is coming. But right now, right here, a gorgeous blue sky is winking through at me, so clear and true like God's iris, looking inwards and downwards with love. So beautiful is that blue, the fog of depression has lifted and I can see and smell clearly. Clarity has returned.
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