It’s raining here. That’s not unusual for where I live. The Northern Rivers wouldn’t flow if they didn’t have replenishment.
Each morning I wake up early, around 4am, and then I meditate for an hour or so, lighting some candles and incense to keep me company in the dark. My meditation can take one of several forms, but I always include some time in silence, and some healing work for friends, family, clients and the planet.
This morning I finished my meditation, cocooned in that lovely space of my inner world, and then as I slowly adjusted back into the flow of life I heard the richest of orchestras around me.
There was the constant drum of rain on the tin roof. The frogs are croaking and calling to each other. Crickets and cicadas add their drone to the moist dark air. The gutters gurgle prettily as they swallow the rain and convey it to our water tanks.
Wind chimes tinkle in the breeze.
The trees creak and groan as they sway and dance under the rolling waves of rain and wind.
Cows and calves, waking up, are calling to each other, as mother and child reunite for the first feed of the day.
Behind it all is a dull roar. The creek is up. We’ve had constant rain for days, and heavy rain all night. Even in the dark I can picture it. The muddy water swelling up in the rainforested channel as it makes its way from the hills at the top of our farm down to the river on one side of us, or the creek on the other.
I can hear it tumbling over the rocks, making little waterfalls.
I put the kettle on, and prepare fixings for tea. My own blend this morning. Smoky Russian Caravan and Chinese Yunnan, with lavender blossom and fennel seeds. It’s a rich aromatic brew for a robust start to my day.
I’ll drink my tea, write my blog, and work on my novel until dawn breaks.
Then I shall don my leopardskin-print gumboots, take my big stripy umbrella and wander down the hill to the causeway in my pyjamas, and see if we are flooded in. Such adventure! Today, nature shall decide what my day will look like; whether I go to town (Mullumbimby LOL – city dwellers would consider Mullum a hamlet) to work on my new website, or stay at home and work on my book. Living here I am constantly reminded that I am a very small human on a planet that lives and breathes, and snores in her sleep, and washes her hair to suit herself.
The rain is still thundering down. The birds are beginning to sing. I pour another cup of tea…