Just A Little Rain
What is my goddess making?
Saule is plaiting a sieve, a basket
in which to sift the spring rain.
Look! Her little daughter is dressed
in a garment of dew. Her fair hair
is hidden beneath a white veil
and over the viel is a wreath
her mother wove of fresh leaves.
--Lithuanian folksong
Spring rains may demand an umbrella, but we should celebrate their coming as a signal of the goddess' love and concern for us.
There are so many places today facing drought because of the lack of rains, and yet, we still see them as an inconvenience when they come. It's one of those times when I despair of humans as a race of people. Never satisfied... never understanding the connection between the water we take for granted and the life that follows it.
It feels to me like just another rejection of our connection with the Land and with the world around us; another rejection of the connection with the Universe. It's a sorry state of affairs. It always elicits a wry chuckle from me also, when my colleagues complain of the rare rains that come in Cairo - rains that are sorely needed in the desert for there to be any life at all. I can't help but be reminded of Arrakis in such times.
And yet... this week particularly, I find myself doing the same. Wanting it not to rain, not to be cold so that Mir and I can spend time outside. Have dinner outside; have a fire outside; read outside in the hammock... all these things, because I had wanted outside time. Had tried to fix a schedule that would allow us as much time in the yard as possible. Of course there have now been other things that have gotten in our way - things that are unavoidable and must be done. So I will do what we must always do, and adapt the plans so that they can still 'fit' with the available time. I could meditate on my flexibility, or my frustrations that force that flexibility - but that would be a very negative thing to do and I don't wish to be negative.
In other news, sweet Jennifer has finally passed, slipping away peacefully, it seems, for we found her curled up between us as if she had just curled herself up and gone to sleep - never to wake. She is now across that rainbow bridge, frolicking with her sister, and the other members of her family whom she outlived.