THE STORM brewing in the sky and the wind lends it’s energy to the message trying to come through.
I can just about hear the whispered words, see the the meaning dance into motion. The sky is tumultuous and scatters the message just beyond my reach. I have been standing outside for minutes now watching the trees sway and rustle against each other, listening to the words just beyond comprehension, wondering if those words of the wind are meant for me or only the trees, [level-dracowolfs-circle]and winds, and spirits are speaking solely between themselves. This wind must be from the North. It scatters the birds, sending them to branch and nest. The wind seems to remind the trees of times and epoch long ago, and of things spoken of yet to come. But of course, none of this is from the human perspective. The trees and mountain shake, exulting the anticipated cyclical story-telling. The recitation of their common story, origin to their common fate makes them sigh and moan and cry out, like Baptists during a sermon. I shiver, one again reminded of the scale of their lives and collective energies, in comparison to my own. I breath in the jubilant and excited air, and pull it down deep.
I do not feel left out or an outsider. I do not understand their concepts, their “words”, I do not understand of which time they are talking. But I understand how they feel. Very few storms a year are brought on this wind, and I am pleased and honored to hear one again. Knowing I am just a part of their world, as they are mine, I remain patient in my observance.
Then, as if a determination has been made, a certain point in time reached, it is declared that the Fall season will linger into the twelfth month. The bitter winds carrying the small sharp snow might hold off until the return of the Sun, February’s that the bitter winds. The zephyr would linger as long as it could, holding out the Samhain gray days of November, but as all things must finally give way, the storms will come.
Finally all is quiet, the voices cease, leaving only a faint humming and thrumming among the satisfied trees. I linger as long as I can, wondering, hoping, there would be a encore. But as my daughter comes out to see where I had gotten, I know reality has shifted back to where I had come from, before the heralding winds processed. I smiled thankfully, sadly, before shaking my head and returning my energies to the human realm.
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