Yesterday I wanted to see if the salmon were in Redwood Creek so I parked above and walked down.  The path was wet and it was narrow with roots, so I was careful but coming back up, I slipped,  and so as not to fall into a well of redwood trees, grabbed a tree, wrenching my leg and foot, and wrenched it further pulling myself up to stand firmly on slanted ground.  Slowly and painfully, I limped my way back to the car.

Today I rest, leg propped up by a fire with books as comfort and support. I come to Simone Weil’s book Gravity and Grace.

“Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter when there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes this void.”  

Yesterday, I learned from a ranger that though I didn’t see a salmon, one was seen three days ago, and the big push may come with this next rain.  The creek has to be just the right depth for the salmon to make it up to reproduce.  There’s a number to call at Muir Woods to get the news on the salmon, and there’s something so exciting in knowing what this next storm brings, that I feel currents flowing in me, inviting what’s new as I open to the grace in empty space.