I feel comfortable with feeling my heart. I'm quite fond of it, in fact, but I've been a little stymied in imagining the leap when I've been working so hard to feel the fullness of my foot receiving the ground.
Then, Monday, I saw it differently. I looked up and saw a beautiful Bluejay in the oak tree outside my window. The jay was hopping toward me until I thought if I opened the window, he might come right on in, but instead he stopped by a perfect acorn and began to peck. When the acorn loosened and fell, he swooped and gathered it in his beak.
I'm sitting with that today, the example of that leap, a leap of faith some might say, and yet it was a win-win. Even if the acorn fell to hit and splat upon the ground, the jay would eat, and maybe later he will drop it to the ground and break it open, but in that moment, he and I shared the feast of a leap.
We have rain, fluidity. This morning I opened my front door, and a salamander scurried in, frightening my cat who was planning to go out. I encouraged the salamander back outside, inspired by its perseverance. This is the driest year in this area on record, and though I water, I do so carefully since water is so precious. How has this little guy survived in all his slippery glory, and what a way to begin the day.
I am grateful to meet the movement of November, that leads us to a day of thanks, knowing, each moment drops and rises, each moment, a leap, bountiful and full.
I am remembering now one Spring when I had placed a tiny basket on a shelf on the wall system in the living room. In the tiny, woven basket were three brightly-colored foil-covered chocolate eggs. I leave the deck door open when it's warm, and one day I came home to find the eggs were gone, and three watermelon seeds filled the basket, a gift, I assume, from a jay, a trade.