When we moved into this lovely home of ours, I cried a little every day because the smell (I would learn later that is the smell of trees) reminded me of my dear cottage, what used to be my dear cottage. It's been eight years since we lost the cottage, since my father sold it in a dementia-stricken moment. I still mourn it's loss. But through my relationship with that place, those grounds, the air, trees, and water of that space ... I developed a deep connection to the earth. Something real and tangible. And while I mourn the loss of that cottage more than the loss of my mother, I am ever so grateful for having had that relationship for the time that I did. I am grateful that I had a place and space that was reliable, solid, never really changing, encompassing and embracing, real. I can call up the memory - sensory memory - without trying very hard at all. Whether someone else owns that piece of land or not, I will forever be a child of Winnetou Lake. I will forever be grateful for what that land gave to me.
And so on the first Spring days, when Mother Earth loosens up a little, basks in the warmth of the sun, shifts and changes and gives of herself after a long winter, I am grateful. I am grateful for the sense of peace she shares with me.