The First Rain: Listening to the Turning of the Seasons

Today, after long months of sun and still heat, the rain has returned.

It came quietly, carried on the breath of shifting winds, a softness that whispered across the land before the first drops ever touched the earth. I felt it yesterday, that pause in the air. It was the kind of stillness that feels like the earth herself holding her breath. Then the skies opened, and the rain poured down like a long-awaited song.

The soil drank deeply. The plants, weary from the summer’s stretch, lifted their heads in gratitude. Even the stones glistened, their colors darker, truer, as if they, too, had been waiting for this return.

The creatures were quieter today. The birds hushed, the squirrels absent. As though all of life agreed to pause, to lean into this stillness, to simply receive.

And beneath it all, there was a shift. A knowing. The call inward has begun.

This is the threshold moment of the year I love most: the turning toward autumn, when the outward fire of summer gives way to the inner flame of reflection. It is the season of listening more deeply, of honoring the voice within, of walking gently with the guardians of the land.

The cedars that stand above my home remind me of this. Their roots entwined with the memory of ancient rains, their branches arching toward what is yet to come. They are both keepers and teachers, whispering: Remember. Return. Root.

So I sit in this rain-soaked quiet and remember, too. That every cycle of season, of self, carries the gift of becoming. That what ends is not loss but opening. That the stillness before the exhale is as sacred as the breath itself.

Welcome, seeker, to this turning of the seasons. May the first rain awaken in you the same remembering. May it invite you, too, into the quiet joy of return.

~Shai

Moss is one of my most favorite of nature's artistry.

 A Simple Ritual: Listening to the Rain

If the rains have come where you are, step outside for a moment. Close your eyes and feel the droplets on your skin, or simply listen to their rhythm as they fall.

If you are somewhere dry, boil water and pour yourself a cup of tea. Let the steam rise, like a soft rain in your hands. Inhale deeply.

Whisper to yourself:

"I return with the seasons. I honor the stillness. I am ready to begin again."

Let the water, falling from the sky or steeped in your cup, remind you that nourishment comes in cycles, and that you, too, are held in this rhythm.