At the solstice, I am awash in summer’s sensory bounty.
I follow my nose through the yard, inhaling the fragrant blooms of peony, rose, and lupine. Walking the freshly mowed paths through the field, I run my hands through the waist high grass at my side, tenderly touching and touched by the soft and gentle seed pods. Birds sing anthems, hymns, and chorales from balconies hidden by leaves of yellow and green.
I am dissolving into the familiar abundance. Surely, this is how life lives itself to death.
At once, something startles me to awareness. Little droplets of cool water kiss the skin on my hands and face. I pause to notice more fully but cannot really see or feel real moisture. The sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. The air feels dry, save for these curious and delightful pinpricks of coolness that fall here––and there––and there.
I often see and feel water vapor as rain, fog, snow or sleet but I have never felt it just suspended in the air. Yet, that is the only explanation for this sensation. On this crystal clear blue sky day, I can feel the micro-droplets of life-giving moisture in the air. These tiny, gentle blessings are so slight they might be imperceptible on another day and in a different frame of mind.
But today, with my senses alive to the season and my heart tuned to the mystery of life’s unfolding, I receive them with full awareness. What a gift to be invited to this mystery, to feel the cool water that enlivens this abundance.
The snap peas have grown another inch. The tadpoles have sprouted their back legs. The dragonflies have emerged. The peonies have bloomed and fallen to the ground in a single day. All this life is being nourished and, still, there is some for me.
In gratitude, I raise my hands and bow my head to receive this watery blessing, Invisible and Unknowable, Certain and Sacred.