In the pasture
On the first day of snow, when the white curtain of winter began to stream down,
the house where i lived grew distant
and at first it seemed imperative to hurry home.
But later, not much later, I began to see
that soft snowbound house as i would always remember it,
and i would linger a long time in the pasture,
turning in circles, staring
at all the crisp, exciting, snow filled roads
that led away.
Mary Oliver
~~~
The seasons are changing. One can feel it on the crisp bike ride to work, as the sun rises and the breath hangs as solitary souvenirs along the path. One can see it in the leaves that change from vibrant green, to bright yellow, then dull orange, and finally a deep red. A day later they spiral towards the earth reaching the ground that they will become.
Whether walking through a forest of leaves crunching underfoot, surfing a wave in the fading sunlight, or clearing the mind through meditation, there are moments when the divide between the mundane and the sacred falls to the ground. In those moments are spirits can breathe.
At these blessed moments, may we find the time to not hurry home...
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