Another blustery day ahead, but I don't think we will see as much rain as the day before. A couple of storms, drought busters, have moved over California and swamped us with more water than we have seen in a year. The gutters along the road on which I live are feeding into the creeks that flow into the ocean. Such beautiful liveliness, as if the earth once again has a pulse and respiration.

I have been staying indoors for more hours than I would like, when I should be down along the ocean watching the big storm surf moving in. Maybe today enough break in the weather will allow me to go see the raw power up closer. I drove up and down the coast yesterday in the early afternoon to look at some of the fallen tree limbs and at places where the waves had washed over the roads and into saltwater lagoons. Many people were out in rain coats, rubber boots, and umbrellas, to take part in this traditional winter ceremony, this receiving the gift of rain from the gods.

Tulips and daffodils continue to bloom outside the kitchen window. Good thing we planted them when we did. I also notice that many of the indigenous trees in the area that blossom in late winter are losing their blossoms, or rather replacing the blossoms with tiny, new green leaves. How can something so delicate emerge in the midst of a harsh winter storm? I would hope that the same sort of phenomenon might occur in the affairs of human beings.

What am I reading these last couple of days? The Dhammapada, translated by Eknath Easwaran, and a second one of his books on passage meditation. I seem to gravitate toward wisdom literature, from nearly any of the world's spiritual or religious traditions, even though I already understand or have already read the messages for many years. My top-level conscious mind sees the words and has an intellectual understanding of their meaning, but at a lower level inside of me there is much room for new understanding and interpretation.

The same trees along my road flower each year in late winter. I can walk past them all year round when they have leafed out and identify those that turn wildly gorgeous for a small spell of time. Even though they are usually mostly green, in my mind I see them in their brightest moments.