I had it all planned I was going to watch the sun rise this morning from the Manhattan side of the East River, down at John Lindsay River Park. (Talk about a throwback of a reference.) Still delightfully depleted from May Day intuition readings, I felt a little too weary for such a strident call time. But even during Quarantime, Sunday is the only time when you can park anywhere in New York City, so my alarm was duly set.
Instead I woke to a soft rain coating everything and Grace’s little nose twitching as it does when she senses something extra fine. Her nose always knows, because the air smelled better than I remember it ever smelling in NYC–fresh, fresh, fresh, with none of that metallic rot that’s prevailed over the last 10, nay, 20 years of eco-terrorism. The peonies and lilacs by my bed only made the air finer.
So no sunrise, but coffee in bed, familiar and witch basking in the sweet smells and sounds–in the dueling songs of starlings, doves, pigeons cheerfully waging turf wars.
After you-hoo, I insist.
Oh, no, after coo-coo-you!
Only after I drank a second cup as well a big glass of lemon water–and, oh, sure, the last shrimp taco from Saturday supper–did I know how I felt and what was needed.
Which is to say: There’ll be no non-churchy church services this afternoon because this feels like a Sunday to receive rather than download information. And in Mother Mary May, we don’t heed quaranTime. We heed soul time.
If you have the means and time, dig your digits into some soil, unplug your devices, and fly in that sky inside you. Then next Sunday, let’s share what we find. 
It’ll be Mother’s Day, about which many of us have complicated feelings. So we’ll reclaim this Hallmark holiday–give it back to Mother May, Mother Earth, the Mothers we carry within us. More than that, we’ll celebrate the divine feminine principle.
Til then, if you wish to gift a Mother’s Day reading to yourself or a loved one, book here. I bid you a peony-scented start to a beautiful week.
