Those winds that whip the leaves off the trees predictably in November came in mid-October to the Pacific NW this year. You may have heard about the “bomb cyclone” off the Northern Coast of California that brought buckets of rain to soothe the drought for the time being in dramatic fashion. Mega-fire concerns replaced by mudslides and flooding. Yikes! A conga line of storms expanded up the coast to where I live. Yes, this drought parched region needed a thorough watering. But all at once? I promised myself I wouldn’t complain about the steady drip of rain until at least March and so far I’m keeping that promise. Check in with me next month as I seem to return from most walks somewhere between damp and sopping and may soon be growing moss behind my ears.
Lessons from the Pandemic: My Mentor Grief Shares the Gifts of Winter Darkness
There are stretches on my pre-dawn walk where I turn off my flashlight and stand still. Look up through a clearing. Allow the dark to cradle me. Ambient light on the far periphery (it is never totally at bay in the city.) I can pretend the trees along the path are more forest than park. As my eyes adjust, bare-limbed maples and needle-full Douglas firs texture the darkness. An owl’s call fills the air and I breathe that wondering “who who” question into my body. Even when rain is soaking Earth and the steady drops from merged clouds douse me, these winter walks are gift.
Listening to My Mentor Grief: Breathing as a Sacred Act
I dreamed about my dead mother a couple of weeks ago. She was in a retirement home and I was talking to the administrator about signing her up for hospice. This being a dream, it wasn’t going smoothly. I was wandering down hallways and couldn’t find my mother. Finally, I noticed her lying on a couch in a common area with dingy windows and a scattering of tables and chairs. She was wearing a stocking cap the color of coastal fog, a flannel nightdress covering her legs and a turquoise robe keeping her warm. She was facing the back of the couch, but as I approach, she turns toward me. I lower my face to hers and she blows into my mouth and laughs as if to say, “I gave you life once, I can do it again.” I awake startled.
