Tell Me a Story

This flower is called Love in the Mist. Isn't that beautiful?
Well, the scientific name is Nigella, but I prefer the other name. It tells such an enchanting story...those delicate fern-like tendrils look like they could vaporize into a misty blanket, cradling the soft purple in its protective loving arms.

I passed a man on the mountain yesterday who I see quite often wandering the hilly cliff sides, his lab by his side. It had rained the day before and everything was moist and deeply fragrant...nourished after a long dry spell. He mentioned to me how his dog loves to be out on days like this, exploring everything with his curious black nose. He said, "A dewy morning tells many more stories than a dry summer afternoon."
Hmmm.

Although, the story the mountain was telling me yesterday was an upsetting one. As I continued on my way, I discovered to my horror that a large part of the grassy cliff had recently suffered a brushfire. To my nose, it felt as though I was walking across a giant ashtray. I always worry during the summer that the mountain and surrounding forest will burn, especially when it is so dry. If something happened here, I don't know if I would ever get over it.
As troubling as it was to see half the mountainside charred and black, I was so grateful that it didn't reach the trees. It was a reminder to appreciate every moment I have in this sacred space. The whole forest could be quickly wiped out with one careless flick of a cigarette.

I may not have the nose of an inquiring golden lab, but I too am attentive to the stories of the natural world. Life is fragile and precious and we need to lovingly protect it, like the gentle arms of a Nigella.