Ferns and Fuchsias
It is raining this morning. A beautiful, gentle spring rain. All the trees are glowing green. I am reminded of moments on Columbia Hills. Our old house was one of the first when you turned off the street. It was still wooded behind our house. We had trails that led to club houses, a little creek and lots of wild ferns and fern like trees. I remember sitting by the creek, looking up through the branches at the light streaming in through the long, thin leaves. Something stirred deep in my soul in that moment. I did feel something very ancient and primordial. I felt more connected in that moment, that it still lingers. By my best estimates, we lived there when I was in first grade. My fondest moments are the ones out back in the yard. The green mossy patches of grass made me happy. It was an inner stirring again. One of deep gratitude for the plants and trees around me. A deep connectedness I felt, more at home, safer than home. Sitting at my desk, looking out the window at the club hou