A New Season
The snows are retreating, the icy wind blows a last time across the land, hair is whipped by the last gasp of winter's chill. The flowers begin to bloom and the long night has been replaced by the eternal day. Mother Earth watches it unfold in serenity and patience, knowing the flow of time is like a river that carves deep into our souls, digging deep channels of habit and forgetfulness if we are not aware of it. But the Old Crow, the Irascible Raven, that black bird who takes many forms, reminds us. He watches with an eye that he hopes seems disinterested but I see right through him. He watches me, you, all of us. Always curious, always wondering, what will these bright shiny things do next? As soon as we fall asleep he is there, beating wings of wind and fury.
"Wake Up!" he cries, throat broken and urgent.
And we do, realizing that as we slept we lost something in the river. For a while we are dazed by our sleep, but when the fog clears we realize that we were dreaming in the wrong place. To dream while aware, that's the true power. Old Bird settles back down to watch again with his fierce eye. And Mother Earth watches softly.