It is a balmy 73 degrees here and the Light is perfect and the Birds are composing their melodies for the neighborhood.
The Seasons are changing, not that the seasons in the Baggaraggs are so dramatic. But the Golden Rain tree has begun to leaf, and the amaryllis is up and trumpeting. It has been a mild winter, and the browns will soon turn to green, the growing things will wake.
These mornings I struggle to find the words that define the magic that comes with ordinary living. I think of the Morning Prayer and the lighting of the candle, asking for the Presence of the Divine to be in my Home, and in Me. I think of the days this winter when I made a fire, and the very magic of the kindling. I think of the fusion of the tastes that made the soup, and the tending of it with a kind of Wonder, and the transition of the Flour into Bread. The smell of it baking fills my Home with a singular kind of Peace and Comfort. I can almost feel the healing of it in its Smell.
Today, with these words, I give thanks for what I call the Rough Magic. The transitional moments when Chemistry Changes the flour and yeast to bread, the veggies and meat to soup, the seed to a flower.
