Its been a very stormy evening for my town today. The hottest day of the year so far has brought with the best thunderstorms yet. Huge droplets of rain, bright lightening bolts in the not-so-far-off distance, and thunder in all of its smooth rolling undertones, and snapping cracks of sound.
The storm brings much more than needed rain and a blissfully chilling breeze though. It brings with it power, the kind that licks at my skin and pulls deep to the thrum within. Its the same pull I felt on my way down from Monadnock Sunday afternoon, when the thunderheads began to roll in, and two raven's rose up from a near by tree to soar in the refreshing winds around the mountains edge.
|Here be those croaking beauties!|
What I'm reminded of today is the same message those beautiful birds and the howling winds brought upon my deaf and exhausted ears Sunday evening. That even on days I do not necessarily feel my most magical, I am never powerless. It awaits me always, ever at my beck and call, and today it rose lightening and thunder at my pitch, and calms as I set back to work. But just as moisture is always waiting in those clouds, the power I hold and the Old Ways I follow have never, ever, truly left me.
They're merely waiting for my next command.