DRIVING OUT ON SOLSTICE MORNING, I found the world new-washed by the middle-of-the-night gully washers. All was fresh and green – more mid-April than winter solstice. And it reminded me that every event (paradoxically – or is it?) contains its opposites. Very yin and yang. The strength in the weakness, the softness in the sturdy. The wisdom of the I Ching: there's always another side to consider.
THE DAY WAS balmy, holding its breath almost, while shoppers jockeyed for parking spots, butchers and fishmongers darted behind counters wrapping parcels, and the merchants breathed a sigh of relief to see their shelves emptied.
In the evening, a widespread band of rain moved in with intent to soak, and it has continued all night. I've come to depend on our faithful NOAA display to understand the greater context for the scene outside the door. Beneath the leaf mulch, the spring bulbs should be sending out healthy roots.
Across the bridge, the mosses are a mottled carpet of green and rust in the woods -- a perfect flooring for the bare season, covering the earth until the snow arrives.
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