These fingers that would like to grow things…

I remember once, peeling a grapefruit and finding at it’s core, it’s very center, a growing seedling. That fragile sprout looking for light and life. I remember an overwhelming feeling of joy dance through my whole being. What a gift! Very carefully, separating it from the pith and the flesh of the fruit, I planted it in a tiny little pot. After a week or so, it had sprung a couple of tiny leaves. I would leave it out in the sun during the day and bring it in at night. One day, while we were out, it rained and drowned the roots of that poor seedling. I tried everything I could to bring it back but nothing worked. It was so devastating! Took me a good long while to get over it, the regret and the loss.

I have always wanted a garden, a wild one! Flowers, trees, grasses, growing willy nilly. Clumps of flowers hanging off heavy limbs, ripe fruits strewn across mossy paths and tangled roots, scents of rosemary, thyme, sage rising through the mid afternoon air as you brush past them. Birds, bees, rabbits, deer, squirrels, caterpillars, cats and dogs lying lazy in the sun, heavy with sleep and contentment….

Mysterious, lush, green, alive.

But alas, I have a brown thumb. I also lack the patience it requires, and the presence of mind it requires, to grow things. To care for them. I am too careless and absent minded. Nonetheless, this feeling, this desire to grow things has been brewing in me and getting stronger by the day. So I am giving it a go.


Starting small with hot peppers, sweet basil and cilantro.



The floors are too cold. So they are sitting up on the footstool. Yup. Totally mollycoddling.


Under the light. Grow baby grow.


Do wish me luck! I am going to need it.


These things that come from silence.

Liquid gazes; tall grasses; white domes on dark green velvet; pouting mouths abloom; rustling, restless underbrush; furry, quivering tails and heads to match; tag across branches and trunks; a mad crush of wild flowers; mysterious, slithering tail ends that disappear under leaves and twigs; a far away tinkling of water; twittering conversations; floppy ears; nibbling mouths; pelting rain; golden light; the poetry that comes of these things…..


These thoughts that are held in silence. Honest, heartfelt. I have always shared from this space. From this truth. From what my own silence and stillness bring to light. Otherwise, I choose to stay silent rather than be false or forced.

These past couple of years have been so very noisy. I have allowed this noise to overwhelm the silence, to crowd the space I need to be creative, to be observant. Outrage has become the default state of being. I have stopped listening for my silence.

I have a need to change that. And conversely, the one thing that will help me, is being here. Once again looking for and finding beauty to share. And also to take comfort in what all of you have to share through your thoughts, photographs, art, poetry, because there is a lot of comfort in that. So, thank you! For listening and sharing.

And here’s to finding silence and all the loveliness held within it.

Unexpectedly in the light.

There is always something growing, something pushing through the earth’s bind. Pockets of microcosms. ‘…more things in heaven and earth..’, ya? Infinite and infinitely more.

There is a tree trunk in our yard that is lush with these uber little beings growing in the dead of winter. A strange and fascinating landscape.

(The optimal zoom on my phone camera has rendered the images slightly blurry.)


Something dies, something else takes its place. Round and round and round. How wonderful it all is. This place, this land, teeming, diminishing, growing again, thrilling with life and activity. Quietly going about it’s ways, weeding, weeding, weeding, and nurturing, building, supplying, calmly following it’s path and it’s edict.


How sane and level it all is. How wild. How matter of fact and absolutely magical.




How does one not fall on one’s knees in awe. Again and again and again. And yet, it is not enough. This awe pales in comparison to what really goes through our minds, bodies, hearts, isn’t it? That electrifying resonance, Alive!

We are so severely limited by our vocabulary. The limit of our thoughts and emotions that does not allow us to go beyond a certain point. But then why must I question it? Why put words to something that must be felt, lived.


I think this body, though inarticulate, knows. This body that wants to dig deep into the dirt and disappear into the sap of a tree.

What is it like to be a part of this earth in that most fundamental of ways? To grip it, to know it to the marrow, without question, without hesitation. To simply know. Be. Live, in the truest sense of that word. Lords of the earth and sky. No, not lords. Partners then. So integral that there is no tree, no earth, just one pulsing life.

What is that like? HA! This immutable need to put words to things that must by nature be lived, known, despite our selves.



New friends!


In the middle of a copse, in the center of a corn field, there was a wedding. The September sun poured through the trees, bathing the sparkling, flushed bride and groom, and the beaming guests with it’s amber light. The pooches, ring bearer and flower girl wearing a tutu, looked adorable and behaved so well. Nary a bark between them. We sat on bales of hay, with sunflowers and pumpkins decorating the aisle. The ceremony was sweet, simple, heartfelt. A truly beautiful wedding!

The reception was held in a barn studded with starry lights, with sunflower fields on one end and these new friends on the other.


At the sight of us, they came strolling up to see what was up.


Pausing to converse between themselves, slightly unsure of the strangers.


How those ears twitched, and rolled, and that long nose huffed, and puffed!


And then there were these sweet beauties. What a riot!


When they lean into you so, with their golden, inquisitive faces, you do not walk away. You stop, and you stare into their sweet, friendly faces, and wonder at the wonder of it all, and the beauty of the world, and how fortunate we are to be given the chance to see it, feel it, to make it our own even if for a fleeting moment. You carry them in the cockles of your heart over the next day, and the next, and the next until they become a part of you, and you see life through their light.




Saved the best for last. Big rolling eyes, an inquisitive nose and an apple fallen on the ground: a recipe for a very happy heart. Mine, of course!





That sweet face. That body, plump with nectar, buzzing with life. Such devotion to every bloom in it’s path. Here is the art of living. Simplicity. With whirring wings and thirsty tongues and sticky feet. Making honey morning, noon and night until there is breath in the body. And after? A whole sparkling field of flowers.

Light and darkness…


It is hard to leave this light and walk indoors into shadows and half light. Into chores and daily litany. It is often easy to forget that there is a prayer in the everyday hustle that keeps us fed, and clean, and safe. When all one wants to do is linger in this golden light and let all the dark, moldy bits seep out of one’s being, it is easy to forget that darkness has it’s purpose, too. In darkness, we rest, we sleep, we let go for a while all that holds us down and back. All that bickers at our soul and repeats not enough, not enough, not enough. In darkness, our conscience does the mending and the building so that we can rise again and walk out into the light, and perhaps, for a time, be the light.

Summer glimpses.








Summer has been lovely. All the walks in the woods, the time spent wandering aimlessly, for a while, just looking, peering into the faces of flowers, the dark edges of ponds, the soft plop, plop of mysterious creatures coming up for air, or food perhaps. Reading poetry there, and beauty of course. The silence and the incessant chirping, all falling with equal grace upon the eager, grateful ears that like to hear nothing and everything, that are married to sound and silence with equal fervor. The rising and softly falling away of images, day dreams. Some known, others unknown. Strange yet strangely familiar. All this and so much more.

Summer has been so lovely.



Rosebuds in tea.


IMG_20170721_121143IMG_20170721_122625IMG_20170721_123251This sweet little bud that flavored my tea. Thank you for granting me a moment of grace, for soothing my eyes, for softening my heart with your sweetness. There is so much to be said for thanking the food on our table. For taking a moment to be grateful for the sustenance, for this gift of nature that was given freely. I am saddened that I have moved away from it. I am saddened that I take it for granted and only praise the colour or the pretty picture that it makes. Isn’t true mindfulness understanding the wholeness of the gift of the moment? Looking beyond what we gain from it?

As an adult, I have always shied away from plucking flowers and leaves. I enjoy them so much more on the trees and plants, their natural home. The only time I buy flowers is when we have a pooja, a religious ceremony, where we offer fruits and flowers to the deities. I remember absolutely sobbing when the people we hired to do our driveway cut the beautifully arching honeysuckle to make room for their truck. I remember the bewildered worker calling his boss to inform him about the crazy lady crying over the honeysuckle. Poor man! But I couldn’t help it, and I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I say that I felt the pain physically. I feel it still. I know it’s deeply hypocritical of me because I do eat fruits and vegetables plucked from vines and trees, but there it is. I guess I am quirky that way. 😛

But one thing I do hope to do from now on. Express my profound gratitude for every meal and morsel. It is the least I can do.









I always love the summer days when we forego solid gym work for a walk in the woods. It feels like a mini holiday. A small breakaway. Fingers tracing the rustling green, glad hearts.

There were so many bunnies. Ears twitching, noses in the air, mouths full of moist green grass. Such sweet, gentle creatures. I wanted to hold one, or two, but they didn’t seem too wild about the idea, disappearing into the tall grass lickety-split.

And then, the butterflies, and the flowers….

If only I could make a bouquet of these days, I would place them in every room, a burst of light and warmth for the coming cold winter days and nights.