I hope you had a wicked good Beltane. I know I did, and I still am. This year, the holidays feel out time with the seasons. Beltaine felt more like Ostara, the earth damp and the wind chilly, except that it came with cherry blossoms at the peak of their perfection. It also came with sisterhood, time spent with my dearest friend from college.
I am still celebrating creativity in my art studio space, the table finally clear enough to have room for a sheet of paper. I am brush painting with all the vigor that flows through me from the Goddess. The forms are simple, almost meaningless, almost void of form. They are full of nuance and synchronicity. There is mischief in the ink and the paper, and I am willing to let it reign.
Otherwise, there is a riot of flowers on my altar, delicately sweet stock and heady fresia.
Amber has had some wonderful days of late. She purrs in the sunbeams and sits on her chair next to my desk, watching the letters dance across the screen, quietly approving, softly smiling (yes, cats do smile.)
The gift of this season is to live authentically and to bloom freely.