In my back yard the camellia bushes are blooming. In a world that has gently slid into shades of green and gray, soft pink and white have crept. So soft are the shades of winter and her blooms. The only reds left are the berries of winter. Brilliantly they shimmer in the dim glow of this day.
The storm is back. I awoke to the sound of rain whispering outside my window. A moment ago, as I stood out on my back porch breathing in the morning I heard the call, distant and faint, of a seagull. Taking my eyes off the camellia bushes I looked where the mountains meet the clouds and saw flashes of white as the gull flew over. As she faded in the sky over the lake she dwindled to a *** of black. The echo of her voice fading in the mist.
So quiet are the moments of winter. Only a gentle vibration to convey the sleeping breath of Mother Nature. Deep within the earth they rest. Seed and root, tuber and bulb. Rain has returned the soft lime greens of moss on the oaks. Mountain grasses thrust their neon green heads above the soil, sucking up their winters nectar. All summer these grasses slept. Now awakened, they dance along the mountains, laughing and drinking in this, their season of life. Perhaps that is the vibration I feel. Not so much the snoring of summers brilliant colors but the sounds of winter coming to life. Is it the harmony of the two cycles that I rejoice in? Ah ha, yes.
This little slice of planet earth that I see out my window as I type has gone a shade of amber. It is almost eight in the morning. The sun has cleared the mountains. I live in a deep ravine. The sun comes late and leaves early here. I cannot see the sun, only the reflection of her colors thru the clouds. With yesterdays sunny weather the waterfall has dwindled. I can hear the roar of the creek to the south as she etches the mountains carrying away precious soils to the valley east of here. Natures gift to farmers, bless her.
Peace,
bluelakelady
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