The harvest season has come to an end, the days grow darker, shorter and much cooler. We haven't had a drop of rain since the beginning of September, and the prickly pears are turning pale and thin. The willows and mesquites are turning yellow and dropping their leaves, and the last of the water in the streams trickles softly in the sand, pooling with green algae, and whispering of previous rushing torrents of summer, and promising the future spring bloom.
I've spent the last few days wandering in the hills and meandering up the mostly dry washes, not collecting any medicines, not harvesting wild foods, but just enjoying, filling my senses with the late fall stillness of the desert. Soaking up the sun, laying on the rocks and sand and feeling myself.
Today was blustery and cool, and I spent the time singing into the wind in a small blind canyon, feeling grateful that I'm home. It was my first time back to one of my very special places since I came back this summer and remembered how many times I wandered up that wash to that blind canyon wall, and unloaded tears and heartache and felt held and healed by the waters, rocks and lone cottonwood standing sentinel. I look back at my life and reflect on past loves, and lessons. I'm so grateful to be where I am, even though it seems there is always more work to be done in the realm of spirit and soul.
Today, as I sat under a oak tree heavy with acorns on a nice flat rock, pondering love, attraction and its place in terms of universal love and spirit, that permeates every living thing, and connects us all, a precious moth with grey and orange wings lighted upon my hand, and began kissing me lightly with its proboscis, and remained there, kissing and walking all over my hand, loving me with its gentle kisses and trust. I can't imagine why it chose me, I didn't smell like a flower, but either way, I'm grateful for its gift.