I’m back home from a week’s trip to Whidbey Island, Washington. My friends are house-sitting and invited me over for American Thanksgiving, a feast I’ve seldom celebrated since moving west. Once acclimated to the cold, damp, and grey leaden skies, I savoured the slow and easy “way in” to the deepening darkness of winter.
Our morning ritual of candlelight and sage, hot tea and silence, taking in the hidden beauty of cloud covered Olympic Mountains and Puget Sound Waters.
Singing grace, accompanied by Grace.
Walking on the beach, some days in a wind so fierce it blinded the third eye and buffeted the body.
Gathering the “egg stone” and a sand dollar as tiny as my pinky fingernail.
Honouring community tradition by hosting their annual potluck Thanksgiving dinner.
Sitting in circle to welcome and weave those present in body, and in spirit.
Playing and laughing together, dice and cards…creating new words like “”LURU”: the feminine of guru!
Soaking in the hot tub under Jupiter and Orion, hearing the stars, seeing the wind.
Sipping a wee dram by fire as a closing ritual to the day.
Being drummed and smudged safely and sweetly home.
This gift of time away from work is a blessing in so many ways. As autumn now makes its way to winter, I’m able to practice mindfully the season’s invitation to settle in, to rest, and to contemplate a year nearly over. “To move at the pace of guidance” in a way not possible when work schedules and obligations dictate rhythm and over-ride natural inclination.
I see the morning vista in my mind’s eye and hear the Whidbey Island whispers.