There are several ways that I could drive to work, but I use one that, while a bit longer than the others, takes me through the woods along Spout Run, past the rocky cliffs, and over the beautiful Potomac River.
Tonight, the river and the misty rain were having sex. You couldn't tell where one began and the other ended and they were both only partially disrobed, surrounded by leaves of the brightest Spring green and the white bridal blossoms of the Bradford Pear trees. My spirit wants to swim in that pearl-grey rain, floating just above the river and penetrating it so gently that it's all at once imperceptible and maddenly delicious.
A daily practice can involve many components. For me, one big one is to pay daily attention to the Potomac River, the lifeblood of our nation's capital, the source of the water I drink, the baths I take, the water I pour on my flowers and herbs.
Ground and pay daily attention to something "outside" of yourself (Rumi would laugh at that use of the word). That's an excellent beginning of a daily practice.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."