A bit of rain continued falling overnight, and this morning everything was thick, and lush, and green with raindrops clinging to branches, leaves, petals, and life.
After I took Blu out for an early morning "business" report and barn inspection, he went back inside and I headed back out with my camera. I had noticed some delicate little purple flowers growing here and there around the barn and I wanted to capture them with the camera before they are mowed down by the inevitable first mowing of the lawn mowing which will occur any day now. I know the mowing is necessary, but I do hate to think of the little wild flowers that will all lose their heads within a few days time.
While I was out I heard the gentle clip clop of horses hooves coming up the road, and a carriage with some of our Amish friends went by. I shot a photograph of their horse; I admire their horses so much because they are so fine and handsome looking. My husband said they buy retired race horses for their carriages, which would explain why these animals are so refined in looks as well as movement.
Continuing around the barn, I found leaves have sprouted from our raspberry canes. Oh how I look forward to the raspberries. When they are ripe, we will go out a pickin' together with our berry baskets after evening meals. The raspberries are small and black, wild and delicious. We have them here around the barn and the willow, and many more over at the cottage.
Here I am, on the verge of re-experiencing those things which were brand new to me last spring. This weekend is our anniversary, April 29th. Last year at this time I was busy taking care of last-minute preparations to leave California with my husband-to-be and head for Las Vegas for our wedding on the way to New York for our new life together.
I love to conjure up the excitement of the moments of pleasure that one particular day, the day before he was to arrive by airplane to meet up with me for our great adventure.
My first stop in the morning was the salon in Burbank for a manicure and pedicure. After that, I headed out to Sherman Oaks to pick up Chinese food from P.F. Chang's China Bistro for my son and I--our favorite Chinese restaurant. Next, I headed for my son's apartment and we had a nice banquet together as I glowed in anticipation of things to come, and he smiled quietly in his happiness for me.
Here we are, one year later. No regrets. None at all.
As a matter of fact, if I had known then how it would all turn out I would have been filled with even more anticipation. We, together as a couple, have turned out to be better even than I thought we would be, and my expectations were quite high.
This morning's rain drops, lush green lawn, and golden morning light reminds me mightily of last spring and summer in my new home and environment. For the first time in my life I was in an environment that brought reality to the song, "Morning Has Broken" as performed by Cat Stevens. I listened to it often last spring and summer, sang it quietly to myself while sitting out on the back stoop watching morning golden light on the wet lawn, streaks of sun's rays pouring through the willow and other trees in the yard, golden broken light bringing our lovely barn to life.
As I sat there listening to that song in my mind and over, and over, and over again I felt huge wells of gratitude flowing up and out of me, filling up the scene before me and extending out into the greater environment and world, reaching that beauty in everything that is for me, the face of God. A feeling of wonder would overtake me, and all I could do was float in that sense of gratitude and love.
Morning has broken not just here on the farm, but in my life. In our lives. This is morning, though it came in the middle of life, it is the morning.
A fine, fine morning it is.
Love to you, my friend. I wish it for you, for yours, and for others beyond you and yours.
Thank you for sharing this morning with me.