(Saturday, August 8, 2015)
I am pulling weeds from cracks in the driveway, thinking of my recent dream of my grandmother. I remember roaming the wild hills on her farm as a child, intensely curious about every plant that had the resilience to thrive in the hot sand prairie. My favorite was the purple spiderwort, a diminutive version of the native plant I have in my garden. But every plant was beautiful to me, even though in those days all were considered weeds.
Suddenly, standing on the asphalt, the fresh aroma of sweet corn fills my senses. Just as quickly it passes. Is the spirit of my grandmother alerting me to her presence? Sweet corn and melons (“mushmelons” she called them) were the two crops she raised on the farm.
Claudia has shared stories of smelling perfume and sensing spirits. Until now I have not had that experience.
A little later in the day a huge young Swainson’s hawk flies past Chris and me, landing in a pine tree about thirty feet away. Hawk is a messenger from the dimension of spirit, so I felt his dramatic appearance was a confirmation that my grandmother was with me on this lovely summer afternoon.
Very beautiful!