I walked the Trail today under thick cloud cover. After making it all the way to the top of the mountain the sky opened up and greeted me with a few sprinkles. I better hurry, I initially thought to myself, as if the rain would surely pick up and get heavier. One drop always equals more, and then a downpour, doesn’t it?
I remember this is not necessarily so. Today, the rain starts and stops but never amounts to much. I have gotten caught in my share of storms out here that have come up suddenly, enough to induce a bit of fear, I suppose. These days, however, I try to let go and trust I won’t get soaked — that I will be guided to turn around in enough time to get back to my car before any deluge. I can usually get a sense of things if I am paying attention.
Out here, I try to do just that. To listen the way the animals do. This is the path to Monticello after all, of Thomas Jefferson, his trees and woods, but it is also the path of metaphor and spirit, and — pay attention it says — we are speaking to you now. Nothing is by chance, take notice.
A cardinal flies from limb to limb, swoops down and lands. There is a sudden rustling like the sound of a woman rushing by in a taffeta dress, then silence. A nearby branch bounces up and down while the cardinal rests on his new perch, his calls contained within.
All noise and interference have been cleared. Nature pulses with Truth.
I try not to turn away. ~ KB