12.24.14 And then, all around us, was the sound of rain again,

This evening was warm and wet and dark, as I readied for bed.

     And then, all around us, was the sound of  rain again,  singing as it pattered upon field and roof and grasses and bough.

     As the light of day dimmed, and the enveloping night let show a few stars, glowing light-years from home.

     The deer in the wood fed well, and prepared for night’s rest, taking their turn to keep a watch out.

     The coyote, early winter full bellied, their thick coats of silver and grey and red shielding them from the gentle rain, nuzzling each other in affection and pack, and curled up with noses pressed into furred tails, near each other, in the easy relative warmth of this Christmas eve.

     My children, grown, were off laughing and playing with friends or in-laws, and the house stood peaceful,  high upon the hill, the mountain range dark and beautiful behind, the valley and view stretched out before .

     One by one, I let the three dogs out, the oldest to stand in the cool misty rain, as it soaked itself into her lustrous old fur, her nose to the fields and forest as she took in the smells that her eyes could no longer see, and her ears no longer heard.

     The cousin dog came happily to the back door, and tromped about by herself, her own home being across from ocean, so no yard to mill about in solace. She took quite some time, much to the chagrin of the pup, watching through the dining room windows, waiting to be with her again, and to be outside himself.  

      Each toweled off deliciously as they returned inside for the night.

      I looked over the room, at the red lights about the picture window. The bleached and ironed white tablecloth, and linen napkins placed just so. The old family silverware at the place settings, on either side of the great aunt’s Rose dishes. The tall silver candlesticks adorned with deep red candles; the wet foam awaiting dressing of greens tomorrow.

      I stepped outside myself, to stand in the doorway, which I often find myself doing, at the very end of my days. Watching the small raindrops in the night; feeling the mist upon me.

     I closed my eyes, breathing in the moment, the pause.

     The adapting to what is, and what is not. To a world of complexity and adversity and remarkable existence. To a planet in an orbit, in the middle of endlessness. My small life, nestled within it all.

     I turned, closed up the door and  down the lights, imagining the globe in space, from far far away, and  quietly blessed all that life.