It rained yesterday and overnight.

Now the fog weaves through the trees and obscures the sky.
This place is for earth and water,
for grounding and flowing.

Now, I am sitting on the porch listening to the drip drop of water swelling and dropping, leftovers from an earlier rain shower.

A confirmation that the world is here and solid.

Tiny birds flit in, out, and through the spruce tree, their song an unexpected balance to the harsh calls of the jays and crows.

Each fence cap is draped with spider webs as if there was a grand ball throughout the night, and the ladies left their jewels when the night’s magic was over.

Fall snuck in through the fog and the rain.

I know now that there are more than green needles in the woods as the gradient golds and red leaves appear as if the world was a stage and the spruce and pine were the curtains.