The Breath of Autumn

I worked in the steamy kitchen, alternating between sink and bubbling canning pots, feeling hot and somewhat agitated; outside it was a glorious autumn day and I was laboring inside. I needed air.

I opened the window and the breath of autumn came in, lusty and clean. I was transported to “the Farm” once again; the only place of refuge and peace in my childhood.

I’m in the forest; it’s been raining. The tiny breeze stirring the stillness; leaves, heavily laden are drip, drip, dripping around me and on me. I don’t care; the sound is at once calming and invigorating. The forest, or “woods” as we called them, is my solace. Nothing else matters; I am safely cocooned in my personal sacred grove. The world is my own.

As I ramble, the air begins to take on a life of its own; fog begins to rise around me; the mist, light and fresh, highlights the rolling hills, bringing into definition the glories of God’s creations. As the fog lifts, so too my spirit; and, finding God in the treetops, I begin to feel His presence.

The smell of damp, decaying vegetation, combined with the earthy, leafy smell of freshly fallen leaves, make a heady scent that for me is as the sweetest rose. Rough bark streaked from the rain is giving off its own woodsy fragrance. The richest lavender fields of France could not be sweeter than my woods.

I wander for hours, never needing the companionship of anyone else, perfectly happy to gad about across the duff. My mind and my heart are free; no place that I need to go; only the need TO go.
A small stream provides me a refreshing drink if needed, and fallen logs ample resting places; yet finding peace of spirit is all I really need.

Wandering as I do, the sounds and scents of nature fill my soul to bursting; there is nothing on earth that matters, no trouble too large to overcome; peace prevails once again.

I’m cooled off now, and back at my task; I thank God for memories that let me relive the comfort and peace that was so badly needed then; I thank Him too, for the Breath of Autumn that whisked me back there, if only temporarily.

Rain

It’s raining today. It’s almost Christmas, and yet I’m not missing the “white” of “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”

Having grown up in the Northwest, I suppose rain is just part of my soul. There is no pain that a cup of hot chocolate and the happy patter of rain can’t soothe for me, at least for a time.

Here in Oregon it’s often known as "liquid sunshine.” That may seem a stretch for some, but for me, it’s the sound of peace. I've lived in many places: Ohio, Utah, Colorado, Washington and Oregon; yet I've never been as content in any of those places as I was when it rained.

When the heavy mist falls, it looks like millions of falling stars, twinkling under the lamplight at night; shimmering, swirling, they make their way to the waiting earth to form patterns on the pavement and in my psyche; when the heavy rains beat a tattoo on the roof, it’s nearly as good and soothing as the rhythm of the surf at the coast.

If you find a rock, and it doesn't look like much, spit on it-well, you could just put it under the hose, but, you may not be near a water source; spit on it. See how much prettier it looks. That's how the world looks to me in the rain. Colors pop and everything is washed clean; the world seems happier somehow; refreshed.

Rain makes puddles. I LOVE to drive through puddles. I don't know what it is, but as that wall of water comes up and I push through, it makes me giggle.

Next time it rains where you are, snuggle up and listen to it. Listen to it splash and patter across your roof or porch. Let the happy liquid sunshine wash away the cares of the day; have a book, a blanket and a mug of hot cocoa nearby, and the day will be pretty close to perfection.