“In the distance I hear the quiet rumble of thunder. The taste of fresh mystery hangs in the air like a thick layer of honey ready to be licked up by willing souls who go out into the rain in search of something sacred.” (Excerpt from chapter 3 of my book, Wild Essence)

Sunday at midnight, the gusts of wind that stirred before the storm drew me outside. The trees swayed wildly to and fro. Lightening lit up the sky here and there, the thunder a gentle rumble. As the night stars disappeared under a blanket of dark grey clouds, I revelled in the comfort of the cool wind that whipped against my skin.

Soon dark corners of the garden became visible as my eyes adjusted to night vision. It reminded me of those summer nights playing outside ‘til late at night, hide-and-go-seek in the dark, hiding in the bushes. I remember the yellow-green glow of wild hare and wild cats’ eyes in the moonlight up in the hills behind our row of neighbourhood houses. It was so eerie and mystical at the same time. Perhaps it was the nostalgia, but a part of me wanted to prance around the midnight garden and climb in the spaces between the shrubs and trees the way we used to back then.

When the rain came down (and heavily so), it felt like it was washing away the residue of a difficult week. The past week has required lots of deep breaths, self-nurturing, green juices, turmeric and ginger tonics and moments of stillness to retreat. My health wasn’t at its best, we had a death in the family, my father-in-law landed in hospital and various other stressful situations seemed to crop up all at once. So the cleansing vibration of the timely rain seemed to wash away the tension I’d been carrying.

Something in me wondered if this was the last storm I’d see in a while. I hope not. But living in a summer rainfall area means that as we descend deeper into autumn and then winter, the rain soon fades away. Winter here in the central interior means dry blue sunny skies. I do love the sun (especially when my house is freezing) and mild winters, but sometimes I also miss the wet coastal winters and occasional snow-capped mountains of the parts of the country that I grew up in.  Yes, we have our cold snaps and chilly days as one would expect, but much less wetness to quench my thirsty ombrophiliac soul.

This is probably why in recent years, I’ve set myself a challenge – to find new things to love about the changing seasons, new ways to soothe my soul and seek out the healing and lessons of Nature. It’s always an adventure to see what will be discovered in the new season. And with my sense of wellbeing now renewed, I look forward to discovering the wild whispers that find their way to me as the dark months unfold.