Today, the rain is falling steadily.  I could quickly be soaked within the first 15 minutes if I were out in it.  I am grateful that it is raining and not snowing.  This time around, New England will get snow, and one of my relatives will mount his roof and shovel snow to the ground to avoid damage to the roof and potential collapse.  Perhaps homes in the New England states should be required to have metal roofs so the snow will slide off.   I dread the call when he falls off.

Rain is a blessing.  I am particularly interested in how it will nurture the garden where bulbs and plants prepare to break through the ground and delight us with Spring bloom.  The cycle of nature is fascinating.  In the Fall, we watch the plants turn brown, get mushy, and fall to the ground like dead.  They disappear before our eyes, shrinking as though they are sucked back into the earth from which they came.  One would think they are dead and will never be seen again.

The child in me mourns their passing, believing that they are gone forever.   The loss is palpable.  The garden design delights the senses.  The colors have been carefully chosen for a purpose.  We have designed a Moon Garden.  Most blooms are white, ready to reflect the moonlight when the sun goes down.  The flowers around the edges are yellows of different hues, as though the sun were blessing every inch of the garden and welcoming the lilies and daisies as they bloom.

My favorite part of the garden is not the flowers at all.  My favorite part is the serenity bell that hangs in the center and softly caresses the wind with a deep, ringing hum.  Peace lives here, and problems melt in the wind.  The garden beckons to all my senses.  Watching the blooms develop through stages of bud to bloom is exciting.  Anticipating the moonlight reflecting on the white blossoms is mesmerizing.  The scent of the lilies is intoxicating, drawing you closer.  My body relaxes, and my breathing slows as the garden enters my soul.

The parts of me that have been dormant are beginning to rise to the surface again.  Movement is evident in my thoughts, and the synapses in my brain are firing and clicking with new life.  As the plants push through the soil barrier, my sluggishness begins to move aside.  I will write or paint or sing or dance.  Perhaps I will lie on the ground in the grass and feel the energy beneath the ground and let it move through me.  But for now, I listen to the rain and am grateful I am inside.