Window of Orange – Day 751

Weighted Blanket – Photo: L. Weikel

Window of Orange

Karl and I took a walk today in what I would consider late afternoon. It was early for us, but we sensed the shift in temperature from yesterday and didn’t want to get even colder walking in the dark. From the look of the clouds, the potential for precipitation was significant – at least a possible snow squall – although my Weather Channel app said otherwise. (We both felt some flakes sweep our cheeks, but they never attained the momentum of even a decent flurry.) Covering the sky with billowing shades of dark slate gray tinged with the slightest edges of purplish black and ashy white, the cloudbank felt like a weighted blanket. But there – far across the miles of fields and farms and forests – a window of orange light appeared.

It almost looked contrived, as if we were in some sort of huge space ship and a rectangular door on the far horizon whisked aside, opening with a swish just like in Star Trek.

While I took a photo of the rectangular doorway of light that appeared, I was definitely more interested in trying to capture the magnificence and personality of the dark, swirling threat of pent up weather-rage manifesting before us. The darkness felt familiar. The light of the sunset peeking through that doorway felt like a false promise. It’s hard to explain.

“Window” closer up – Photo: L. Weikel

Evolution of the Sunset

We watched the cloud cover and setting sun dance with each other and sort themselves out as we walked. By the time we got home, a significant portion of cloud cover had either dissipated or moved on.

The moon rose, powerful and so clear, like the beam of a klieg light. Noticing this full-on brilliance gave me pause when I again contemplated the moon that had awakened us at the very moment of its fullest expression. Perhaps her brilliance was so great that she’d appeared brighter than expected even though she was being eclipsed by the Earth and traveling through her shadow.

Where to place my attention? – Photo: L. Weikel

Starry Night

I came inside from doing my Perelandra Biodiversity Project process right before starting this post. It’s the 1^st day of December and, as I’ve written about many other times, the first of every month is the day people from all over the world take about five minutes out of their lives to consciously join in the effort to shift the energy of the land or property over which they have control (own, rent, have authority over) in order to combat the effects of climate change.

It’s a simple process, a means of having a brief chit-chat with the Spirits of the land on which you live during which you show them you are aware of climate change and how the stress of it may be resulting in loss or extinction of biodiversity. It’s a tiny opportunity to communicate appreciation of Nature and express a willingness to co-create a healed environment.

I was moved almost to tears as I engaged in this conversation. (I tend to talk a bit more after reciting the ten or so words the actual process calls for. I enjoy expressing gratitude and asking if there’s anything else I can do to show it.) The stars were blinking in the cold clear air and it seemed almost too great a leap from the weighted blanket of dark and ominous clouds that had hung over our heads only hours earlier.

I’m not even sure what it is I was marveling at as I stood on the edge of the porch and chatted with the Spirits of our land. Perhaps it was the astonishing rapidity with which everything can change.

That’s where the door cracks open to invite miracles into our lives. Realizing that everything can change – <<snap>> – just that fast.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-360)