It's raining. Like a water-harpist settling into a marathon solo, it has built from a soft drizzle a few hours ago to a confident onslaught.
We are in interesting times.
That deadline for change, 21/12/2012 has passed, with no appreciate effect on the external fabric or climatic habits of this land.
You could see it as a sort of spiritual waterboarding: I nearly broke about six weeks ago, as the daylight shrank, and Summer became a lost cause.
There's really no point in moaning about the weather, no point at all, unless you want a Doctorate in Victimhood.
It is a great test in the art of acceptance, of responding to NOW. Of accepting co-habitation with HERE. Yourself.
On a practical front, it means having an alphabet of possibilities, strategies to hand.
My garden is left in confusion. As there was no sense of 'season', I sowed additional carrots and cabbages like a desperate gambler, and they sit in limbo between the years.
My land drains well, and its all hand-worked, so there has been no compaction with the rain, but I am sure loads of nutrients have been leached out.
Elsewhere, its desperate. The damage to waterlogged soil and root structure from using machinery, and the run-off from this, must challenge the way we work farm and forest land.
Interesting times.
It's been April for eight months. Westerlies. Showers, then sun, showers, then sun.
But far more showers than sun.
The rain has felt like the Earth's tears. As if she was emotional and unsettled. We are surrounded by the sea here, facing the warm turbulence of the Gulf Stream, so are used to this capricious flow. An advantage is that we have warm winters, safe from that strict priesthood of the Snow King. One Male Force.
But where was the Sun King? The other.
There is a magic to April. A magical dance, between an awoken, tearful Earth, and the increasing strength and clarity of the Sun. The female, the male.
Their progeny is abundance : fledglings, tadpoles, our gardens, LIFE.
Do we have to get the balance right in ourselves first...
I suspect that we are part of it. The problem & the solution.
Today it rained. I remembered having frenzies of activity as a child, involving matches and anything inflammable, and hoses and my sand pit.
It was primitive form of alchemy. Mad young scientists.
The result was ash or slush. It feels like that's going on now.
As I pick a path to slither up to my hut on, I wonder how much more water this earth can hold until it turns into... I don't know.
