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I am one who believes in the pause. I inhale, pause, exhale, pause, and sometimes that pause can last a season.

Today, my eldest son is 38. I celebrate his birth, his coming into the world, and what that means to me. I go to Muir Woods and walk in past all people, to be alone with a creek and trees. I sit, feel the words holy, whole, and hole pierce through me. I stand and the sun lights me through trees. I wonder about sunlight through trees. Is there an extra noticing and appreciation, more awareness of how air is shared?

I am old enough now to qualify for a pass for elders. I pay $10.00 and can now enter any national park for the rest of my life. I show my driver’s license, which has a photo of me taken when I had long, blonde hair. “Beautiful tresses,” the man who takes my money and gives me my card, says. I say how different I am now, knowing I wouldn’t trade tresses for what I’ve learned and experienced in these last almost seven years for anything. Almost seven years, and still there is that tremble as the body remembers Fall, and celebrates Spring. Perhaps now the pause and seasons are in everything.

“Summer and winter solstice times are the two moments of the year when the sun appears to stand still.”

The above quote is from Wendy Johnson’s wonderful book, Gardening at the Dragon’s Gate, At Work in the Wild and Cultivated World.  “The Latin word sol-stice actually means: sun-standstill.”

Wendy honors the “celestial push and pull of sun and moon” when she gardens.

There “are simple and ancient principles: seeds sprout best during the bright of the moon, while during the dark period of the moon it is advisable to minister to the underground roots of plants, which is why many gardeners transplant seedlings in the dark of the moon. This is also a good time to prune, weed, and divide perennial plants.”

I am aware of sunlight and the full moon and perhaps even the dark nights of the new moon, but I have not honored so clearly when I might best perform certain tasks.  Perhaps I can give better attention to the underground, and nourish and nurture my roots as the 28 days of the moon’s phases play in our sky.

Wendy writes that “Many earthbound traditions associate the seasons themselves with the four great elements, also clearly represented in the physical form of plants. Spring is expressed in moving water, or as the sap flow rising and falling in green stems; summer, in the warm air element rustling in the wind-pollinated corolla of June sunflowers; autumn, with the ripening fire encased in every seed and fruit; and winter, in the deep roots of plants that dive down into cool, dark earth.”

Each life has seasons, each day!

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Cathy and Jane started writing together during Cathy's illness, and that writing became a blog, which then became a book!

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