Yet even here, grace falls.

Here, where the darkness appears as real as the light, where danger dances with beauty, where fear and sorrow share equal time with hope and joy.

Even here, grace falls.

Nothing escapes the heart of the Great Yes.  Nothing can loose itself from its joy and compassion.

It sings its song ceaselessly, and its melodies extend to the breadth and depth of all creation.

Never doubt, my child. Whatever may befall you, you are seen, and known, and infinitely loved.

Let you heart be open and your mind be free.  Goodness and beauty surround you.

And always and everywhere, grace falls.

From distant shores, dreams beckon, islands of hope, half hidden by the mists of future time.

Their siren call echoes through our sleep and roots itself in our bones.  “Come,” they sing, “Come.”

When we wake, they drift up in unnamed desires, pulling at our wanting for something, oh, larger somehow, and deeper.

And sometimes, when our thoughts are at ease and our hearts are open, we catch a glimpse of their towering possibilities and they startle us with their light.

Some shrink back at moments like these, feeling themselves made small by the grandeur.  But the bold, oh the beautiful bold, leap up, shouting, Eureka!” and set sail.

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These are love notes, you know, these seed pods, these fields and creek banks kissed with newly fallen snow.

I tromp about with booted feet to gather them, joy pumping through my veins and warming me.  I am giddy, like a child set loose and free.

“Oh, look!  Look!” I sing to the sky as I find them.

I drop them here to delight you, and to share my own delight.

These are love songs from the Great Yes, meant for your heart, for your eyes, that you may be glad.

And I am so privileged to have this postman’s duty.

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The morning brought gifts, as all mornings do, its chances streaming in the window, rolling across the floor.

Waking, she gathered them up by the armload and spread them on the table, shivering with glee, as she ate her toast and jam and watched the lacy snowflakes fall outside her window.

How could she choose among such dazzling possibilities, each a door to fresh, unfolding world?

She gazed at the falling snow.  And quietly, within her mind, a voice spoke:  “Do what you love, and joy will follow.”

When she glanced back at the choices, one shimmered brighter than all the rest and called to her heart, and she knew.

It comes to soothe and quiet us, to smooth our rough places, to soften our hard edges.  It kisses our cheeks and eyelashes.  It rides our breath and melts into our being, nourishing us with its purity, filling our hollows.

It cannot help but come to us.   Our hearts keep lights for it in their windows.  Just as the earth is to snowflakes, so are our hearts love’s home.

Deny it to no one, to nothing; love that is conditioned isn’t love at all.

Call to the sun.  Ask it to release every frozen bit of you.  Ask it to teach you fearlessness and joy.

You are as real as the tree, and no more, as real as its reflection in the still pond and as the pond, and no more.

The transient is just that, and is no less for its impermanence.  Its experiences make their indelible marks on our souls, and that is why we come: to gather that which can be gathered no other way.

That is the enchantment of this place and the bliss of it.

It rides the winds and plays through the boughs of the trees.  It skims along roadways and fields, and into all the cities and towns, swooping through doorways and windows.  There’s no holding it back.

It’s come to make its home in you, to pour itself into your mouth, to ride the air into your lungs, to drench your very cells with its sweetness and its power.

Shhhh.  Just listen. Breathe it out.  Breathe it in.  Be the song, wordless and singing.

So the year’s first child leaves us, her last sun pouring down its golden rays in benediction on all our bright dreams.

Tomorrow the next one will come toddling in, brand new, its arms gift-laden.

Their visits are so brief and fleeting.  And each gives us its all–seconds, minutes, hours, days–to do with as we please, to make whatever choices we will, as they unfold their weather and usher along the seasons.

Oh, January!  How we heralded your birth!  You, the bringer of fresh hopes and renewed aspirations.

Forgive us for how quickly we forget them, and know that your life force will stir them again and again as your siblings come with new chances.

For all the beauty and dreams you brought us, our thanks.  Farewell, beautiful January.  Farewell.

So deep is her sleep that she appears lifeless, her spacious curves lying there, unmoving, under the broad sky.  But beneath the thin blankets of last year’s crops and grasses, she calls the tomorrows into form.

Birds’ nests dance inside her, and baby rabbits in their burrows.  She dreams the ants coming forth and the dandelions, the tadpoles, the snakes and the fishes.

And through it all, the song of the Great Yes weaves in melodious ribbons and blesses her, and she sighs at the sweetness of it all and sleeps.