en mi coraz'on un cielo alegre

I stood in the wheatfields once and watched the storm build. It was passing over us as it did so, heading for somewhere else. The sun came through from low in the west and touched the drying grain heads and patches of stubble, calling them gold. The sunlight was absorbed by the clouds, deep purple-grey, thick soft fabric on the sky. The wheat stood out against this background like it had been cut out and placed there, but with an utter sense of belonging. I sometimes remember this, on days when the clouds thicken against the late sun, or, like yesterday, when there's just the faintest scent of wheat stubble and dust on the wind, brought from far across the hills. When you live a connection to life, to spirit, to reality, like this, every moment is touched with grace, every sense is continuously alive, everything that happens is in your heart, because your heart is the entire world. To me, this is perhaps what it means to be a Druid.