RAIN ON THE PATH.

On Sunday, February 15, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Slicing the mound and the moat into two semi-circles with a spade. Bamboo canes on the ground, weighted with rocks, determine where to cut, the previously celebrated circle, of water, clay, grass, and central standing stone.

Enough energy gone into concentric circles to open a worm hole or a portal or two. The crops in radial rows, while they tend not to move around much, do need more space to rotate. So it wasn’t long before i was digging more than just an idea.

A few days without rain, so, rough-dug the clods and sods of turf, turning into two half-moons with a central straight path, and padding down the corner curves of clay with grasp and pound of rounded rock.

So now, since rain fell overnight, i survey a choppy sea of sodden clay clods, with slippery path treacherous to tiptoe. So let it settle itself, till wind and sun come to dry clods to crusted turf tufts, to turn and desiccate with blade of spade.

Being but a momentary marker, a mundane interlude of transformational transition, extending the path through circles and seasons with no loss of symbolism or soil. No mere trivial thing, setting the stage for spring, and the awakening song, a stone’s clack against a stainless spade.

Warmed by fire in Hibernian hibernation, contemplating cultivation, and the instinctual alchemical forge to ground fertility. Returning to turn topsoil and chop, changing the composition with loving loads of porous peat, enlivening and lightening to loam. While bright flames flutter in the grate indoors, and evening rain intermittently spills and splatters, dripping from clogged guttering.

As above, so below, rain, a macro-micro microbial reshuffle, symptomatic blessing of larger transition. Nothing mundane about sacred soil so taken for granted, the tilth to till and tend from which nutrition springs anew.

Just a grounding interlude ingredient for the blog’s pot, devoid of drama, explosive revelations, the throes of empires crumbling to dust, structures buckled and blasted go belly up, opening all the buried cans of worms, while ‘apocalypse’ simply means revealing.

Turning the cyclic seasonal page, as Pisces morphs to Aquarian age. As quakes unblock some ancient springs, so to return to simpler things. All this, just a playful afterthought, for want of anything more ground-breaking and close to home to report. ~

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Martin Rainbowmaker.