Invoking Light

One does whatever she can to entice springtime into the world, bunches of confetti colored lilies from a local flower market, bowls of fragrant hyacinth and tulips on the dining room table, prisms suspended in a south facing window and and directing morning light into the study.

Before dawn this morning, the waning moon was almost directly overhead, and Spencer and I went out into the garden  to greet her. It could have been our imagination, but it seemed a little warmer out there then it usually does at that time of the morning, and our thoughts took a cheerful turn. One of these days, the snow in the garden will have disappeared completely, and like happy plants, we will dwell outside under the old trees, rooted, contented and part of the flowering throng.

In recent dreams, I have been wandering around in the orchard. The apple trees are in bloom and filled with bees; the wildflowers below are all aflutter with cavorting butterflies.  Both omens and cantrips, I take the dreams to mean that it is time to order that new close up lens I have been considering all winter.

The hearts of lilies yet unknown are beckoning, shimmering dragonflies, spider webs beaded with early dew, the glossy eyes and gloriously furred backs of legions of summer bumblebees. Ahead lie perfect hours in the presence of wonder and the elemental grace at the heart of existence, witness to the wild and perfect mysteries that light up our days and fill our nights with stars.