Last Saturday we raised a Maypole in drizzling rain on a hill top in Sonoma County.  The day was soggy, still, a  heavy mist turning often to light drizzle putting the dampers on some traditional revelry.  But our setting was wonderful: the top of a grassy knoll surrounded by giant gnarly old oak trees.  

As soon as we had raised the pole, the wind came up from out of nowhere, and played the ribbons, sort of like a harp.  I have never seen anything like it.  After a few minutes the wind died down into the stillness that had preceded and we completed our dance.  

Nor did even a breeze ever come back while we were there.

And we felt blessed.