Yesterday morning I got ready for work and, at the appropriate time, stepped out of my house. It had rained in the night, and a few light raindrops tapped my shoulders as I walked to my car. Another rainy morning. That morning’s rain was different, though. It had a different smell, a different color to it. After months of gray rains, this rain smelled green.
It was the dawn of the new moon.
Looking at what I blogged about that day, you can tell I was in a spritely mood, but you can’t tell that I felt as though I’d been shifted a tiny bit. If my soul had been in Spot X for the past few months, it was now listing two degrees to the left. A tiny seismic – psysmic? – shift.
The word of the day on Tuesday was “empyrean,” the highest heaven, paradise, a realm of pure fire or light.
All day long, I felt as though I were humming – not in terms of song, but like a tuning fork, long moments after you strike it, at that point when it seems silent to humans but still sends dogs scurrying for cover.
I am reading the most extraordinary book, and I’m going to tell you all all about it, but not just yet. I promised myself I’d get past the halfway mark before evangelizing. And that’s remarkable, don’t you think? I’ve been reading this book for over a month now, and I’m not even halfway through it. It isn’t a long book, but it’s deep – so deep I can’t see the surface any longer, but that’s okay, because the surface is really the bottom and I’m swimming down, down, down for air.
It wasn’t until late on Tuesday that I realized that it was the vernal equinox. Ad vitam paramus.