Bathed in warm sunlight, the crunching of carpenter bee mandibles tickles my ear drum. A slight tip of my right ankle forward and backward slowly moves the rocker beneath me. My dog rests her head on the bottom porch rail.
I breathe deep, embracing the peace and admiring the warm blue sky.
The wind picks up, the stir of new green leaves brushing against each other obscurs the bee whispers in my ear. Temperature drops swiftly as the sky shifts from blue to gray. Clouds block the warm sun. No longer squinting, my eyes relax and my breath lightens.
A spring thunderstorm is blowing in, taking her time to arrive.
I eagerly await the first drops. Anticipating the scent of fresh rain on warm stones accompanied by the chatter of drops falling upon leaves, saturating the parched earth, before accumulating in rivulets on saturated soil and running into creeks, rivers, and lakes.
The tapping of a woodpecker is replaced by the rhythmic creaking of wood crickets. My gentle revery is broken by a mosquitoe lighting on my leg for a bite, prompting a quick slap.
Wind picks up again – the American flag begins to wave. This is my home, this is my land, this is my place of contentment and peace.
I find myself ruminating on a yoga mantra my uncle left with me during his recent visit to Germany.
“I am safe. I am sound. All good things come to me. They bring me peace”.