Here, at the winter lands, today I get to wake at last dark to an ongoing patter of little laughs at our prolonged drought as RAIN continues to kiss the Earth. The sound on this shake roof was there the night long, and each time I sort of woke it brought a smile to me as I re-snuggled with the down comforter.

It started yesterday at dinner time and we laughed as we scurried around outside looking for dry wood for our wood cook stove, the rain first raising old old dust in tiny clouds,  as it bit at the ground, and then making of that dust a happy mud, which slipped and slided us about.

My ten minute stroll to this cabin after dinner was a delight; cloud kissed and just maintaining control on the muddy path. And then entering the little house where I had left a fire of hard wood in the stove, knowing its welcome would be additional delight – never matching that of say, a loving woman, but not a bad second either. Quieter, anyway.

Folk in Seattle or London, say, probably don’t easily grasp how wonderful it is to get blessed precipitation from the on high. But here, every drop on the head, every whiff of the Earth as she sighs and drinks of that sky, and every view of the surround of peaks newly shawled with snow, is a minor miracle, not unlike a calm harbor after a tumultuous crossing. Our souls dance.

I get to wake to make my mate’ in a little corner place of fire, the heated heart of this cabin which I designed, built, furnished and now which keeps me dry as without falls blessed mana from above. As I gaze out the door at the little stream through a thin veil of life giving love, that happy smile underlines all that I see and feel.

Take that, silly drought – get warped would ya!