It has rained all week, and the forecast calls only for more rain until Monday. I will not complain about this, because I know it to be a blessing of fertility that will stretch into summer’s drier months. And thankfully that rain is not as cold as it started out, so that walking in it doesn’t chill me to the bone.
This morning a thick fog has replaced the chatter of showers, and my horizon has shifted from the cloudswept ridge in the East to the trees at the edge of my property. The effect of fog is always so discombobulating to me. It’s as if the ridges anchor and cradle me, and without the sight of them I wonder that I could be anywhere, somewhere flat, like the even spread of Mississippi where I grew up.
But that’s just a little game my eye plays, because of course I know that the mountains are there, despite the fog, just as I know that I am nourished and changed by living here, at the foot of a great and Giant Goddess. Even if it’s something I can’t see, it is definitely something I can feel. And though I marvel at the wonders of the world, and imagine myself traveling into adventures, it is here that is my home, it is to this place that I belong.