Where the Soft Ferns Grow

In my wildest dreams, never could I have foreseen living in a beautiful log home on 78 acres of heavily wooded property in northern Wisconsin after living in the twin cities of Minnesota for thirty two years.

Yet, somehow, here I am, sharing a quiet, pastoral life with the man I love and adore.

​Our driveway is .3 miles long. I slowly stroll the drive when I go out to our mailbox. Each time I walk, the forest talks to me. Endless species of plants, trees and insects (especially friendly butterflies!) are happy to commune with me. The birds stay tucked away out of sight but they sing their canorous greetings anyway.

I’ve always loved ferns. In the spring their unfurling fiddleheads tickle my fancy. Once they are wide open their fan shaped fronds remind me of the open arms of my loving grandmother when we would stop in for visits in my childhood days.

Today marks the sad anniversary of the passing of my 10 year old son Craig who made his transition in 1995. Craig's sweet essence often hangs with me on these saunters. This morning I felt his hand holding mine as I stopped to admire the row of happy ferns.

Craig frequently whispers a lovely message of hope and reassurance. He wants me to share it. He wishes to tell the world that there is no death.

Our souls are eternal and eternally beautiful as spark of the one great spirit. What we call death is simply a shift in energetic frequency, releasing the biological space suit from our human experience in the process. Our loved ones' souls are with us more than we can imagine!

These days peace flows within my grateful heart like a sparkling Montana river. Life is a mystery in so many ways. Yet, my eternal soul celebrates the gifts that appear when I rest in love and remember to allow space in my heart for the manifestations to drop in.

The lush ferns serve as a reminder to me to remain within the pure space of my heart....the place where love is the only true thing.