The rain is here. Yesterday to poured and hailed in fits and starts. Between showers the wind blew. It blew the leaves of the Japanese Maple. They flew and fluttered like brilliant butterflies.
I’ve got a big pot of lentil soup in my crock pot. It’s been simmering all day. Soup and crusty bread, with a fire going and the rain.
“The rain surrounded the cabin…with a whole world of meaning, of secrecy, of rumor. Think of it: all that speech pouring down, selling nothing, judging nobody, drenching the thick mulch of dead leaves, soaking the trees, filling the gullies and crannies of the wood with water, washing out the places where men have stripped the hillside…Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, the rain. As long as it talks, I am going to listen” Thomas Merton