Unfolding

Summer is unfolding herself in all the ways that only watery and wandering souls understand. The timothy is now seeding, its pollen puffing out like tiny smoke huffs as I walk through the fields. The dew glistens in the sunlight and from somewhere miles away, the unexpected scent of the ocean finds me.

Thank you, I whisper. Thank you for saying hello. I miss you too…

But alas, in the here and now, it is hay season. Soon, we will watch the weather like hawks on the prowl, vying for three (and ideally four) of the best hot, dry days. And then we will find ourselves knee deep in wind-rows of sustenance for others, a winter’s worth of full bellies and warmth. This is the way of it here. The seasons intermingled and dependent upon one another in a manner that has long been forgotten.

And I will tend to the flowers and herbs that I have planted. I will decorate the little garden that I built for the butterflies and the Fae. And I will watch the fawns grow up while I sit on the porch with the dog and the cat. The hummingbirds will come and drink their fill and I’ll ride my horse and dream that he is in fact, a unicorn.

These are the joys of the season that belongs to the sun. And I am here for it. Grateful for what it no longer includes. Aware even more now of the things that have no place in a season so full of promise and celebration. Bring me the wine and honey and let the sun kiss me good morning. Let the birds sing me songs through open windows and leave my hair dirty with the smell of sweat and sunscreen and my nails stained with potting soil. There is no longer a place for me within walls and boardrooms.

The trees hold my fate now. And the ravens are the only judges of my worth.

Photo by igovar igovar on Pexels.com