Moments

The wildflowers are at their peak, a lacy profusion of petals, happy faces, feathery leaves and a finale of dancing butterflies sewing the design of next year's arrangement.

The air is sweet and thick at high noon, with honey-hay breezes anointed by evaporating river mist. The water has taken good care of the plants, and as I wade carefully down the current, I can brush my fingertips along the flowering vervain. I crush a little watermint and inhale it's beatific scent deep into my lungs and belly. The cool ripples float along my calves as I step in between slippery rocks. All around me there is bounty; canopies of grape leaves, frosty thickets of young willows, sassy bull thistle, and half eaten boneset patches. Many creatures have stepped along this mud before me.

Nearby the raccoons forage. They are tiny little new ones, crunching along last year's leaves, digging into the dirt for edible treasures, and waddling from spot to spot. The bitter mugwort and wormwood are nearly ready to make flowers, and so I collect many stalks for potions. My big jar of vinegar sits, luminescent, on the counter top, and the drying stalks hide in the shade. Clever in the corners of the riverbank are the stunning blue singing mouths of Skullcap... soothing my spirit as I listen to their colorful melody.
My basket is full this summer. With water plants and meadow plants, flowers and fragrances.
With beauty.
And exquisite moments of sharing.
A page is turning, and the suspense is heavy. What moments lie ahead? Where do I put my energy - so that it will be multiplied, not stolen? What practices can I cultivate that will nourish my authentic being.

I will ask the plants and pray to the river.

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