Rain Song

You really should visit your local Lebanese Festival when you can. I have managed to eat four pieces of baklawa, in my sleep. I don't sleep-eat often, but when I do, it's on a spectacular scale. The last time I pulled an 'all nighter' was the time I ate a pound of fudge, overnight. And let's not forget the pound of fudge I consumed while nursing a hamstring injury in Scotland.

I think it's now time for a cuteness picture.

Don't worry, I still have Pancake for most of this week, but I thought this picture spoke volumes.

I woke profoundly depressed yesterday, but thanks to some motivation left over from the Jurassic, I left the house anyway. I scored the baklawa, and something at the silent auction, and became very Lebanese during an afternoon of dance and music. It's nice to be accepted as part of a community for anyone.

I have spoken to my sponsor, as I do every morning, for my 12 Step Program. I meditated in a bit of a hurry, but I can go back to that. I am grateful.

It is cloudy, with rain today, as was yesterday. The Pond, thanks to the addition of some truly powerful chemicals, is turning back into the pool. Last year, I couldn't have cared less about swimming, but the year before, my first year with a pool, I remember how wonderful it was to be able to swim at twilight, and at night. A swim under the stars is not an event to be missed in this life. There is something about a slow swim, in the reflection of the stars, and the toss of the head, to see the star fields above, that defies description.

I suppose something about it is a mystery. To feel that darkness is a welcome thing, and not something to run from. The flowers and veggies are soaked from last night's rain, but the ground is still firm. The scent of a summer late in coming, rises from the moss under the trees. The impatiens grow well, but the Mexican plants, the dahlia and the daisy, remain small, although they bloom lustily enough.

The forest is full of leaves that drip this morning, and the forest floor absorbs my footsteps. The bird song is subdued, in deference to the sound of the rain. Here, the rain is almost silent; it makes no noise on the trunks of the trees, but sounds fall from the leaves. I suppose that the green makes a sound, and it travels as a vibration against the cheek. The ferns are quietly happy. The path is a bit muddy, but well cleared; no tall grass to wade through. Here and there, a startled bird suddenly flies from one tree to the next. The deer herds are moving slowly, to accommodate the fawns...