There have been storms, there have been floods. Here the garden and air are wet but elsewhere in Britain the ground is underwater and gasping for reprieve. I can see the culprits sailing by, dark clouds pouring from the west, now relieved of their rainfall so giving us a miss. The air is aswirl with them like smoke separating and surging below the pale grey sky, hurrying east as if running a race. The leaves tremble and are caught in the wind that urges them on, wanting to go with them.

Sunshine and showers, time and eternity, here and heaven, energy and form, yin and yang. What a dance it is, being a child of the universe, being aware of the ultimate reality of timeless, beneficent energy but being earthed now, embodied in this time and place. Both are important. If I try to just live in either reality I will lose what there is for me here. Weave them together, weave them with breath and love, with a deep involvement and interest that doesn’t hold on or predict or control. Find the flesh in the spirit, find the divine in the ordinary, find eternity in this moment.

Who wouldn’t want to start the morning like this, sitting in the quiet garden with September sun filtering through the leaves and playing on my face? This is my pause after early kitchen routines, a pause to give space to inner things, to let the well of soul breathe deep and then stretch like a cat so that the unfolding day is held in its spaces. I can drink the air, drink the newness of the day, like champagne.

September. I love September and its mellow, hallowed sun. I love its peace, its fruitfulness, its completeness, and its smiling willingness to forget itself and yield to autumn. This year there are no plums on my tree and few apples but it isn’t worried. There are seeds aplenty storing the bowels of this summer for the future. It is still green, a lazy mantle of life covering the land, filling and filled by the air. There are still roses, there is still warmth, there is always welcome.

The rain comes in bursts like a conversation, all day it is either wet or waiting in the wings. Right now it is so heavy you can hear it playing its own drums with crescendos and diminuendos to keep you listening. It is outside my window under the grey sky. It is out, I am in, it is loud, I am quiet, it is cold, I am warm, it is wet, I am dry. The rain is beyond me
but today it is defining me.