I know the thrill of the grasses when the rain pours over them.
I know the trembling of the leaves when the winds sweep through them.
I know what the white clover felt as it held a drop of dew
pressed close in its beauteousness.
I know the quivering of the fragrant petals at the touch of the pollen-legged bees.
I know what the stream said to the dipping willows,
and what the moon said to the sweet lavender.
I know what the stars said when they came stealthily down
and crept fondly into the tops of the trees.
~Muriel Strode, “Creation Songs”
The steady fall of the rain on my window pane lulls me to sleep. Half-dreaming I realize November and its wet embrace makes me want to escape to a place where nature’s song would be loud and clear. I’d loose myself in those foggy rolling hills, and build a wooden cabin far from the noise. Tucked away from all the hurt, the pain I can feel surrounding today’s world. I’d read and write and read some more…
Where would you go if you could dear friends, when the days get darker?