I want to talk about rain. It has been raining for three solid days now. In spring we often say, “showers”, because we are more tolerant now than two months ago, and the word, showers, sounds pleasant. These are not the cold downpours we grumbled about a month ago. I personally would prefer seeing snow sparkling in the barn light, rather than suffer those drenching long black streaks of winter rain. Two nights ago I sat comfortably in the barn aisle just listening to the rain on the roof and the horses content, munching hay. With Bess dreaming dog dreams beside my feet, I pondered the ending of winter in a week, and what its lessons had been this year. Reflection is a part of growth, even when it is means climbing back in and through those old tunnels we prefer not revisiting. Winter always cuts to the marrow of what needs digesting, to survive. I am still chewing. It is pretty tough, and a bit bitter at times.
I also wondered what new would sprout from thoughts and ideas planted at the time of returning light, way back on the holyday of winter solstice. They were given further form and energy in February on imbolc. Today the stirrings seemed to be reaching up through my own consciousness as well as the rain softened ground. The sky brightens from dark slate to dove grey. Yellow shows through the tight green daffodil buds, but I tell them to be patient. I worry the surely to be counted on cold snap will burn the blooms. To the apple and peach trees, I say, “Hold On.” as their little buds consider loosening, much to early. Concerned they will be fooled by this temporary mildness in their rush toward growth, and not bear fruit, so I counsel them. Here I am standing in the rain talking to flowers and trees. But that is what I do. I remember my barn reflection. Okay, I get the connection. Here is the wisdom for my own process.
Ahhh…patience. This is the difficult one. Excitement, yes! Passion, run toward it! Fear lives only inside my struggle with patience. The stubborn warrior that craves action wakes up.What might I miss if I wait, think about possibilities far too much, for too long? I have nurtured some new hopes and dreams along through the winter. Now they must be protected from this old foe. I have known the pain and loss she suffered by her own hand, and I have compassion. Tell her to take a nap, for now. I must not forget what has been learned.
Just now the wind picks up and brings in a heavy shower of hail. “See what I mean!” I say. Things change so fast. Spring is such a flirt, creating a powerful desire in us. We all seek the movement. But the rain reminds us to pay attention. The ponds and puddles are beyond full, the river is flooding. The ground is saturated. Trees will fall over now in the wind, their big root balls giving way, pulling up earth and rock. The mountain road is a mess, cut by the water boiling out of the ditches. Snow will fall again, no doubt. Now is the time to just be open, just allowing for a sweet, slow transition from stillness to action, from winter to spring. This may be the time to go to the barn, listen to the song on the tin roof, and smell the sweet breath of my good mare, who is always patient.
