The air is heavy with moisture and as the sun rises over the hills and seeps its way into the valleys the mist begins to form on the creeks. The mist seems to rise to tree top level and wraps itself around the now naked limbs of the trees that line the creek banks. As I view it from higher ground it looks like a magical path through the woods, winding its way through the Valley, proudly displaying the path of the Ramapo River. ‘Come with me’, it beckons to my spirit, “come me with and experience the wonders of this incredible earth. You must hurry because as the sun rises I will soon fade…’
The sky is changing from a dark blue to the fair blue maiden of morning. She is sweet and slow to show herself, coming out of her hiding as the morning light brushes across her. White clouds of the same substance that hangs in the trees float across her canvas of blue.
The dampness that darkened the trees emits a late autumn scent that is so very familiar and comforting as the sun warms each of them. The moss on the north side seems to want to absorb as much as it can of the light as it passes by it creating the scent of earth in the cool morning air. This is the scent of my home, my childhood, of life… the smell of my earth.
The few leaves that remain clinging to their branches shine as the ray of light reflects against them. The small, lanky branches almost seem to stretch themselves out of their night slumber, reaching toward the light, reaching their branches, their arms and fingers, up in salutation of the arrival of morning light.
I can see the red barn of my neighbors off in the distance, hidden gently between the pasture and the trees. The horses are slowly coming out of their stalls leaving their prints in the frosted grass and earth of the pasture. Everything is covered in the morning frosted, all objects appeared glazed in the previous day’s rain and mist. The sun is slowing passing its warming ray across the split rail fence that surrounds the pasture and on to the frosted grass making a light steam rise from everything it touches.
As the sun continues its morning journey into the nooks and crannies of the woods, into the hutches of twigs and brush on the forest floor the life that is so abundant there begins their morning routine. The birds begin to appear as if from the mist onto the tree branches bringing their morning song to the ears of the spirits around them. Then, the squirrels emerge from their hiding places and run along the branches and the rails of the pasture fence. I, too, feel the warming rays of the sun upon my back and am filled with a gratitude for this beauty and for the ability to experience this incredible miracle. How blessed am I? I see this miracle and recognize it as such, finally. I know what true blessings are made of and are thankful for that enlightenment.