I love how the horizon surrounds me in 360 degree vision on this prairie farm. Much happens along the edges. In those early hours where time is still and the portals open wide, I wake to the sound track "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." I drift back into the dreaming state and am greeted by some ancient veil maker, the Gatekeeper, who offers me my choice of thickness and style. You choose, I say to the Gatekeeper. I wrap myself in the thin, milky white moon light. Veiled now, I travel onward.
I wake up to my body in bed and go out with our puppy for a moon walk. I am wrapped in hygge, all cozy in my inherited Mother's thick dyne. I heard the moon passes the beehive cluster this week. There it was like some half eaten milky cookie, all lit up and at home in the deep dark clear sky this land supports. The clearer the deep, the easier one sees the light of others. I don't have a favorite phase of the moon anymore.
On my second walk around the farm I went to the apple tree. The sun joined the moon in the vast prairie sky. On this land horizons and grasses ripple whisperings of Spirit. We are not only Sky country, we are of the Winds here. The Buffalo, guardians of Earth, are sure footed and easily hold the land for the Wind and Sky. The sensation of trees, expressing the wind this sunny morning, felt like the times I stood on the Pacific beach shore with the waves thundering in. The Thunderers, there on the horizon, are whispering their support in the wind, a cautionary voice to any wintery monsters who might wish to jump in prematurely.
On my way back to my house I walked past you old sad red barn, knowing it is not my place to restore you. None the less I pray for your restoration into new bright stories for the families that may come to live on this land. Always I wonder where the scholarships are for all the old barns across this midwestern farm country. Those whose hinges are coming apart, dropping doors or windows to the ground could use more then a fresh coat of paint. So much could be done with a barn. I pass the silo and think surely there are scholarships for renewal and inventive projects for all the old farm buildings. Back into the house now. I finish my writing and I am thrilled to discover my new sexy editor has time to read it.
