Though we are just entering a dry spell, Rainbow Season has officially begun in the valley. I’ve lost count of how many have graced our skies in the past few weeks. A full double rainbow is rare, and was a lovely sight a few evenings ago. There is much to be grateful for, even as another dear friend lies on his deathbed. I’m grateful that he is being well and tenderly cared for, and that his partner has such a supportive community. I’m grateful to have met the inspiring Hospice chaplain who was sitting with him this morning when I arrived, and took her precious time to converse with and comfort me.

I’m grateful I’ve been able to spend some time with him these past few days, witnessing his strong heart beating, his tired lungs breathing, the body’s ferocious will to live; and reassuring him softly about how much he gave to this life, how he will now discover the answers to all the questions we used to ponder over lunch, how he will slip into the stream of pure consciousness. I’ve told him how grateful I am for knowing him these many years, for all the good he has done in this community, for the friendship he’s given me. I’ve told him we will know him in the song of the meadowlark, in the blue of the mountain bluebird, in the summer breeze; in the river cascading over rocks, in the tilth of garden soil, in the warmth of burning firewood, and in the bright taste of sour cherries.

I’m grateful for my own will to survive, and to continue the daily rituals required to sustain the life of this body and soul. Chief among these is the weekly baking of the bread loaf, this time using a quarter local rye flour for a light rye; and the daily cheese sandwich, now packing as many vegetables as possible, including seared red bell peppers and pickled red onions.

I’m grateful for learning to forgive my own missteps and mistakes. I’m grateful for learning to return again and again to the truth of the present moment, allowing beauty and joy, sorrow and suffering, all that life contains in equal measure.