It's official. I'm a homeowner. For the first time. By the grace of divine unfolding and many friends assisting along the way, the house I've lived in for the past six months has become mine. The poignancy of this moment is humbling and I miss Shyla more than I can hold in my heart right now. It's spilling over.
It's full spring here--the leaves have all sprouted on the maples and dogwoods--the blooms are bursting forth as much as they can in the heavily forested pines where I live--where I now call home. The breeze dances the new green leaves in a shadowy Samba.
Gratitude? That is so diminutive of a term for what I'm feeling in this moment....
My new home boasts a small picture window. It peers out at a scene that could be mistaken for a painting. The big stalk of a pine tree is offset to the left with a crumbling rock wall cascading in front of it. The ivy wends it way up the slight slope and pine needles and leaves litter the winter floor. It's a dream come true for me.
My living room couch is positioned to look out this window and I can tell it appreciates it. I can tell, because it welcomes me with open arms to join it in reverence during morning meditation.
On this particular morning, the snow began falling just about day break. Slight flurries drifted on occasion and as the incense stick slowly burned down, I would open my eyes to discover the changing scenery. Each time, something new presented itself--little chickadees darting in and out, scratching for a morning meal; large Stellar Jays bullying their way to the food; a sideways snow flurry; a bit of sunlight; and on.
Without a concern, care or comment, the window frame held and revealed it all.