There has been a significant drought here in the Southern California and at times it feels as if every single politician is ignoring it.
Oh scratch that.
It doesn't just feel like that, it is like that. When I head out to the hills and wander through the carved trails, I can't help but gasp at the choked and thirsty plant life. The dust blows in billowing trumpets and seems to clog the air with desperation and grief. When we traveled up the coast to Morro Bay it was as apparent as ever: the parched hills and the dry grassy fields. There was a part of my soul that jumped for joy when, on our return trip home, we drove through Santa Barbara and things were green again! (though my heart knew it was only for human hands, the watering that they do, which made the houses on the hills surrounded by one of Mother Nature's finest colors.)
So with this rain, I embrace, and am ever grateful for, the cooling tide of autumn. The long lazy haze of earlier sunsets that take deep golden sighs before they dip into the ocean to rest. The nights are longer, stretching their dark, navy-purpled fingers for almost twelve hours a day. There is more time for the earth to soak up the rain, for the plants to rest, shielded in night's cloak from the sting of the burning sun. I look forward to the soft winter glow as well. Here, in this climate, it blends ever so subtly with autumn before it gives way to spring time.
So I wait here, rising early, listening to the hope that falls from the sky, sipping my coffee and writing. I feel the quiet, content humming of the falling rain, and the radiant autumn glow that will follow. It is a song full of wishing that sings within me: a pattering sound of hope on the walls of my heart.
excuse the rambling.
joining in with amanda, write alm, and other fabulous folk