I’ve been preparing for this Change my whole life. I am in the flow: barefoot and suntanned in the garden- dirt under my nails. My skin was never meant to be winter pale or hidden from the sun. My back is aching, but I am smiling thinking of our salty, soil-dusted kisses.

You put down your tools and pull me into a hug; turning my cheek against your chest to watch the sunset with you. You lead by example and continually teach me to slow down and be present. My arms and shoulders feel stiff in work’s muscle memory, but soon they melt easily into your strength. The remembrance of You commands my body.

I don’t need to be strong or busy or ‘doing’ right now. Your shoulders: strong and broad. Your back: unwavering and straight. With every sunrise, so grows my trust and confidence in you. I no longer worry if the sun will rise again- because it doesn’t matter. All we have is now, and now is enough.

We’ve all been awaiting the world’s collapse around us for some time. I’ve known it’s been coming, although my apocalyptic visions and dreams were always drenched in rich symbolism: the sky falling, shadows growing, people scattering, and people gathering. It’s happening that way now, but on a mundane level. You explained to me earlier, that “apocalypse” means great revelation and change, and at our most base level, we understand how destruction must come before creation.

It’s easy to become entrenched in the scary ideas of being digitized, forcibly manipulated, and controlled. Nothing raises my hackles and bares my fangs more than the idea of forced compliance and being fenced in. But then I come back to the breath. My wise yoga teacher used to tell me “You live only as deeply as you breathe.”

So I breathe, and connect to myself and Gaia. I feel her strength and comfort when I think of the seasons and elements: birth, growth, harvest, death, transformation, repeat. I feel calm knowing nothing lasts forever. Death is sure, but now is the time to grow and live.

I watch you work with the soil under the beating sun and whistling winds. At times, I can’t tell the difference between you and the very mountaintop you’re cultivating. You move in meditation and intention. Work is play.

I wash the tall windows wrapping ‘round the house. Clear vision is needed now, and I cleanse with intention. I slide magic into every watery stroke of 2019’s vinegar-soaked newspapers. I’ll use leftover juicy lemon rinds to bleach my ink-blackened fingernails later. I’ll always want to look pretty for you.

I breathe in contentment as Lil’ Bit stretches like a sleek cat in the afternoon sun. She likes to lay on the live edge windowsill sketching the mountains or writing a new story. She tells me she’s taken the dog on nine walks today, reports a possible bear sighting, and also- we are low on kombucha.

I am overwhelmed with gratefulness when I see the kitchen counter covered in stages of food: the seeds, the cuttings, the fresh, the prepared, the stored. Oh, all the blessings! You make best smelling dinner while I ready Amish baked oatmeal for tomorrow’s breakfast.

We sink into our chairs around the table, for there is nothing like a growling stomach after a day’s hard work. I giggle as I look up: we are both hovering our noses centimeters above our plates. You are grateful for the abundance of food filling up all the empty kitchen spaces, Lil’ Bit says she’s grateful for ice cubes, and I am grateful for this connection and togetherness.

Spring symbolizes hope, growth, and what has not yet come to pass. This season is full, ripe, and round….for my soul overflows with a gratefulness that comes with Autumn’s harvest.