Changes

The nights are getting noisy again. Something is singing out in the darkness, perhaps crickets or frogs or cicadas. The warm air carries the sounds easily and imparts a friendly flavor to the nightly concert. The world feels different tonight. You can smell it too, if you step outside and raise your nose into the fresh wind. A sense of green assaults you, climbs up into your nostrils and wakens memories of spring: There are changes in the air.

I know the raccoons feel it. They appear more frequently on my porch, beady eyes trained on the door, waiting for cat food. Mostly, I don’t mind. They are welcome here. Their kind inhabited these woods long before I closed my real estate deal and acquired permission to squat on the land. Only one of them is bold enough to worry me. The others stay shy and only place marginal trust in the humans who feed them. I wonder, will they breed again this year and present us with a forth generation of bandit-faced offspring? And eventually, a fifth?

Newly hatched June bugs slam into the wall of my home and crash on the porch, legs up, spinning on hard, brown wings. The raccoons hurry to dine on the delicacy. My pity for the bugs is short-lived as one smashes into my forehead hard enough to leave a dent.

Changes make me feel alive and young. They re-awaken the promise and excitement of hope and expectancy, so easily captured as a child and so hard to come by in middle age. They stretch my imagination and urge me to reach beyond the mundane, toward unexpected adventures and treasure, stashed away in storybooks and dreams. There is more to life. I wasn’t always a keeper of time and a counter of deeds and duties. I was once magical.

Each year, the Earth gives us a chance to recapture our youth, when changes hum in the music of the air. Each year a new beginning, when grasses and leaves infect the night with their herby scent. There is never a better reason to pause and remember as on an early spring night, when the world is not quite sure of the mild weather yet and responds timidly, despite all the yearning. How far we have departed from innocence! And still, how easily we return to our childhood dreams! How fluid and natural the transition! There can be no deeper joy than the sudden recognition of our own magical nature.

I celebrate the changes in my life, even the painful ones. They bring me enchantment and truth and weave my story. In their flowing motion, I find the timeless quality of my authentic Self. Ever so often, I pause and connect the threads of my existence. The colors and patterns may change, but the fine silk and strong flax that make up the cloth of my life have not been altered. The change illuminates my consistency. The more I adjust, the more I remain constant. Chinks and chips fall off my outer armor, but the core emerges stronger than before.

The night wind ruffles my hair and a chill creeps down my back. A feisty raccoon is nipping at my toes, making me jump. I rattle a broomstick and he retreats barely a couple of feet. Not easily shaken, that one. I take one last deep breath of the moist, young night. Then I slip back into my cocoon and shut the door tightly against intruding visitors. I live in two worlds: The one I share with my friends and family and the other one, where animals rule and spirits dance in the dark. A strange world, that one, but it is my home. And I visit whenever I can…