We left Phoenix, my friends, late in October, the weather scorching us with its one-hundred degree heat, and arrived into northern California two short days later, welcomed by chilly autumn rain, our sweaters zipped-up tight, tennies laced, jeans down to our toes. It’s been three weeks and autumn is turning cold. Fireplace is crackling nightly and warming us with toasty affection.
I sit here now, typing; snug in a cranberry buttoned-down sweater and gauze scarf double-wrapped around my neck; slippers over socks and my fingers are just this side of numb. I’m pretty sure winter is already nudging its way across the out-laying meadows.
I am elated.
We live in the country (they call it a town). My abundant domiciles have all been city places…so this is country to me. The town is one hop-skip-and-a-jump long, and just like that you’re out in the country again. No matter where I go, I am driving thru this beloved open-spaced heaven.
Each morning I leave home just before dawn, head into Chico, and I am struck silent by the peaceful scape of the countryside I'm travelling through. Ranches and farms and orchards; gullies, bridges, and rivers…wide open spaces. It is settling and peaceful. Quiet. The sunrise as I travel east is glorious! It departs from its cover of darkness and climbs up over the Sierra Nevada's and into low lying, misty clouds. A ruby-red mass of magnificence. This is a gift. A present. And each morning since my arrival, it is given to me. In these moments, I am humming. That kind of low vibration that connects me, directly, to the Universe. I send out prayers of gratitude and awe.
This morning, I crossed the Sacramento River, over a lovely arc of bridge affording a lingering view of the river’s charm. You can see the current flowing below and huge trees are standing resolutely, growing right out of the river looking like they belong there. Bushes and willows crowd its banks…and always the mist lying just above the surface, moving and turning like a slow-dancer, practiced and comfortable.
Coming off the slope of the bridge and around the next bend I see a pasture of land. There’s a literal herd of heifers and calves, and an obligatory steer shuffling alongside, everyone grazing… ambling… browsing. The herd moves ever-so-slowly. I mean it’s barely light, we're all moving slow… probably not awake yet… I am, but only just. And I’m struck by the most amazing/hilarious thought (are you listening Bridgette?) because I am looking at heifers in the morning mist!
[This wonderful, silly phrase came upon us one slap-happy pre-dawn morning whilst returning from the Sacramento airport –having taken Peter to a ridiculously early departing flight so many years ago; and driving back home, we watched egrets rise off the rice fields thru the morning mist. I made that statement out loud to my sleepy Bridgette and quickly made many more like it, as you do when you're in that silly sleep deprived place… soon we were laughing like lunatics, my sides aching, hands clenched to the steering wheel so as not to lose my place on the road… and I was imagining chapter titles for my here-to unwritten book…each title ending with “in the morning mist.” Hence my blog designation.]
Ah well, I digress...
These amazing beasts navigated the pasture without any suspicion to my crazed revelry. And I wished like all-hell that you were with me in that moment, Bridgette. You’d laugh and grin with me…we’d think up more “titles” …Honey, you’d have loved the sunrise too, in all its crimson majesty.
Minutes later, around another bend -and through a mile or so of moss covered orchard- the view opened up again and that valiant, vivacious sun was now clear of the mountain range, riding through the mist, sending dazzling shards of rosy brilliance across acres of broken cloud cover. I was hypnotized, spellbound… Happiness filled me. I wanted for nothing.
This is how I begin my days. …in a morning mist.
Wishing each of you
Peace, Love, Light and every possible good thing,
Wildflower
