It's been a few weeks since I posted anything on this blog. The huge fire to the north, the Soberanes Fire, went on for far longer than expected. IN the end, it was the longest fire ever in Monterey county and the most expensive fire in the history of the United States. It took its toll on everybody in big Sur. Business basically went away for about two months or more. It's been a scramble. Fire preparations seemed to go on forever, until all that could be said was "well we are about as ready as we could be, if it comes here".
I lived out of my suitcases for weeks, wondering when and if I would put my stuff in the car and make a break, hoping for the best.
All of the hopes I had for the summer seemed like distant dreams as I had to turn away guests and face whatever would come. All of my energy went into the mode of crisis management. Every resource was used to its maximum, and it didn't feel like enough.
My heart cried, and I still feel the fatigue of adrenal and cortisol over-stimulation. Slowly, my energy is returning to a level I can recognize.
It's going to be a while. And I remember this, too...
I know that I have been lucky, since the fire changed direction and didn't come to this watershed. I feel the blessing of that. Every day that I wake up and see things more or less as they were, I am astonished. Because nothing feels the same, and things can never be the same.
Deep soul-searching and the need to face things as they are, rather than as we would like them to be, has been a part of this season for all of us. I feel deeply the losses that friends of mine have endured, and cheer them on as they make the efforts to start over.
Now it is the darkest time of the year, with the sun showing for shorter and shorter intervals each day. I notice every detail of the quiet time, and I live in hopes for what can happen when the sun will turn.
For me, the solstice is a time of fortitude, and of hope. The celestial bodies have important things to say to us. The forest feels quiet, in anticipation of new growth. The stars have a special shine in the cold air. A meteor appears, pink or green or orange, and quickly vanishes. The moon hangs wisely above, saying "Wait and listen. Good things are coming."
I am planning new projects and ways to share the beauty and wisdom of nature in the coming year. Inspiration is appearing from new places. Outside my door, the loquat tree is blooming fragrantly, and it is visited by hummingbirds even in the dark. The quail are fat with fresh grass.
Hop over to the Writer's Launchpad and see more of what I am doing lately.
I wish you all the best during this season, and always.
