You know I love my porch glider. It is the perfect spot for a daily meditation. Especially on a beautiful morning such as this; sunny, blue skies, soft breezes, not too hot yet. Today, I want to listen to nature. Just the sounds around me that have nothing to do with human-made things. Join me?
The porch is covered so no need to fret about getting hot or burned. It is fairly quiet in the neighborhood, so it should be easy to tune out all those mechanical noises of cars passing, mowers running, a hammer in the distance. Let those sounds recede into oblivion.
Eyes are closed, not screwed up tight, just relaxed. Breathing is slow and regular. Start off with three slow deep breaths, in for a moment, then breathe out. It is so peaceful. We will glide gently on the swing, or stay at rest now and again. However the spirit moves.
Notice the obvious sounds first.
Sparrows twittering, not too far away, probably in the willow shrub. A blue jay calls. The maple trees are shifting and shuffling, sounding much like silk fabric rustling softly.
Now to start listening a little more carefully.
Tiny insects in the grass, perhaps small crickets. They are not as loud as their night cousins. Cicadas in the tall trees across the road. Those noisome flies zoom around, just ignore them.
The old pine tree at the corner of the house; listen. It sighs. Long deep-green needles, thousands of them, moving in harmony with the little breezes that dart about the heavy branches. A beautiful sound.
Buzzing. Getting louder. Keep eyes closed. Don't look, don't panic. It is the hornet. Buzzing right by the ear. Go away, go away. We won't bother you, don't bother us. Okay, calm down, the buzzing is moving away. Oh, good. Relax, glide gently. Breathe and relax.
Peace again. Wings of a mourning dove whistle as it takes flight. A slight skittering sound across the deck, must be that vole heading back to his hidey-hole after raiding the garden.
The breeze ebbs and flows and we know, with eyes closed, that butterflies are floating through the yard, lightly landing on a flower, too quiet to hear, but definitely there. The thrumming of the hummingbird wings suddenly there, then quickly gone. Gliding and listening, smelling the last of the summer scents.
And if you turn your head, just so...just right, and listen with your magickal sense, you can hear sunbeams, dropping to the earth, dancing in the garden amongst the clover.