I am loving hearing the wind go through the the row of fir and spruce trees in back.
I know I am safe and cozy inside; but the wind out there can blow things around inside me anyway.
What is dislodged comes to settle in unfamiliar spots. Memories are uncovered and suddenly sitting there in plain sight, after having been in shadow.
The wind tonight has taken me to rural Alaska, where I was lucky to have spent almost a year and a half. I am remembering the first time I saw the Northern Lights. I thought someone at the party had spiked the punch with a psychedelic, until I realized what I was seeing: a miracle of Nature.
I was told that if I clapped and whistled, the Lights would dance; and it was so.
Then I float from there and then to here and now, watching Mishka the Cat groom herself on the desk next to the laptop, and think: another miracle of Nature, so ordinary and daily a ritual. Not to be taken for granted any more than the aurora borealis.
Remembering a few words snatched by my memory from a collection of poems called Earth Prayers:
everything is holy..."