All of a sudden, someone has raked the drifting piles
of leaves that have lain sodden on these foggy, in-
between days, not quite winter, certainly not autumn.
“I hear the raspy sound of the rake’s tines as they
scratch the ground. I think of what is painful in my
life. There’s a decision here, a decision to notice,
acknowledge, gather, and deliberately remove.
I cart the maple leaves in the blue plastic tarp to
the compost pile in the back. I need to turn them
over to the deep processes of nature.
Inside I need to turn what is done and gone over to
my God.
Even after I rake, some leaves are left. I see them
rolling over the lawn in the wind. LIke small sorrows,
and lingering pain, even they will be gone. The habit
of regret must be allowed to return to the soil.
It is the gift of this season of life to be as simple
as a brown stalk in falling light — that spiritually
bare, that naked.
There is nothing left without use —
nothing left out of the whole,
you are there, part of the Holy.”
………………………………………………………………..
GUNILLA NORRIS, from her book, A Mystic Garden.
This helps me prepare for this season of light, of
joy and sharing and festivity. We surely are in a
clearing.
always with love,
Mom/Mimi/Toni/Antoinette
