Sideways rain and the screeching of branches against our windows, trees throwing themselves "into tantrum like a child" (as poet May Swenson says) are predominant these days, so when there's a break in the clouds and sun manages to burn through, I run outside to praise and feel gratitude for any flowers blooming, to dig a bit in the dirt, pulling out the wild onions (which my neighbor calls ramps) and encouraging my strawberries and little lettuces. A few of the violets I planted a couple of years ago are blooming, but I only took one in----as a kind of commemoration of the days many years ago in Louisiana when I'd pick thousands of wild violets (and doing so without fear of hurting them since their reproduction isn't tied to their blooms) to line my windowsills and cheer myself. Though I no longer have the profusion of windowsill blooms, I do feel internally as if I'm blossoming, no longer focused on how I might (or might not) appear to those around me and instead feeling my way along to what I want to do next, which is leading me to Peru in May and June, another adventure I stepped into from a line of synchronicities, one important practical one being an unexpected windfall tax refund, just in time. It's true that synchronicities are not necessarily proof-positive of a favorable outcome (all flowers and no thorns), but in my experience they provide for a more meaningful journey, unfolding into Mystery.
