Coastal Ramblings

I awoke to sunshine and a dusting of snow in the hills. Down here in town there are ice crystals shining in the sunlight on the walkways and parked cars. Unable to sleep at 4:30, I sat up and read the final chapter of Dear Heart, Come Home (Joyce Rupp). A good book, and I’ve enjoyed what she has to say. She’s a better writer than I had realized before, and her poetry/prayers are clear, clean, and speak to me. In fact, the whole book spoke to me.

There are days

when I dream myself

to be

dandelion to the last puff

a full circling miracle

hanging onto a fragile stem

complex in my beauty

yet simple in my standing –

knowing I’ll only grow again

if each intricate

delicate parachute of mine

is pulled off, whirled away

and seeded in

some strange new soil.                 Joyce Rupp

It is now snowing outside, after having hailed for a few minutes.  I’ve never seen it snow here! The sunshine is no longer with us. Low tide is at 11:30 and I had planned on going to the beach with Lucy but at the moment that adventure is back on the shelf. And, as I continually see here, the weather can change quickly, so we may still make it out for a romp on the beach.

I’m glad Lucy and I are not heading out this morning for Palm Springs. Although the roads are probably fine, I wouldn’t really want to be on the stretch between here and Florence right now. The road is much higher, as it climbs, hugging the rocky cliffs above the ocean. It’s a piece of road I take care on in good weather, forgetting about looking at the scenery, instead focused on the road.

When you put your hand in the flowing stream,

you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to some.

Leonardo da Vinci

I have been all over the map this week, emotionally - a bit like the weather. I work with patience in my soil/soul, knowing the seeds within are there, waiting for the warmth and sunshine.

Rupp speaks about hope in her final chapter, and this paragraph in paricular speaks to me:

Each of us has a "shepherd's fire on another mountain" that has kept our hope alive. When the nights of our midlife have been dark and bitterly cold, we have seen something "far, far off" that has helped us survive. This fire has given us the courage to recover our lost self and to believe in the dreams that stir in our soul.