View from the Lodge

I look out , and the wind whips wild,
carving its rhythm across the skin of the lake.
Rain arrives like whispered drummers,
tapping gentle patterns on the surface—
ripples rise and dance
in long, sweeping motions
as if the water is remembering something ancient.

I feel alive.
So very alive.
This wind, this rain—not something to escape,
but something that wakes me.
What a glorious past-time it is
to simply watch, to simply feel.

The wind is fierce—roaring, unashamed.
Once, I might have shut the door against it.
But here, now,it is theatre.
Dramatic. Unfolding. Sacred.
And I?
I am the audience.Captivated.

Each gust a curtain rising.
Each burst of rain, a new act.

The song thrush sings its verse,
and swallows stitch the sky—
darting and dipping
like dancers threading time
between the shifting scenes.

There is nothing to fix.
Nothing to chase.
Only this moment,
this view,this breath.

And in this stillness where wildness speaks,
I remember who I am.

Not separate. Not outside. But within it all.

⸻Guinevere 27:5:25

Thank you for reading. From my heart to yours,
Jeni @ Peace Of Mind Health 🤍🙏

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