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.
This 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.
this little being,
curl and filigree,
ignoring the sacrilege
of my loud clumsy step,
the alien thrust of my body
in the midst of all that is old,
so very old,
said, with the sweetest of whispers,
whither thou goest…
to which I could but reply,
in circles, dear friend, in circles.
What is this, this
push and pull,
this need to shut everything down,
to walk away, to sit
under a tree,
until I become long as
and creepers think
nothing of me
but a place to lay down roots.
And then, there is
that tremulous flower opening
it’s lips, thirsty for life
and hungry for a bee,
and I want to rush back
to my paper and holding
share it, share all this,
this joy called life.
How beautiful the earth is today. How gentle. It’s a gift, a mother’s love. The blooming honeysuckle, the gentlest of breeze and soft soft sunlight. There is a peaceful, pervading stillness, a self contained quiet that is persuasive, leading me into absolute silence and being. No thoughts, no wishes, no dreams. Just pure being and unfolding under this warmth. It makes me want to come back to myself, to gather all those frayed, tattered bits and pieces that constitute my person and, just once, hold them tight to my chest with all the strength in my body, and then, to let them go into this light, so they can fall, softly, gently into place, making me whole once again.
Strewn along winding paths,
long past the hour of repose,
Look at what the stars have left behind
for us mortal souls…
the very essence of their likeness,
in white lace and yellow frill,
earthbound and fragile,
but somehow brighter still.
It was so difficult to come back into the sheltered cool of the house. The sun is so bright and happy today, after days of gloomy grey. I just wanted to sit out there, with the sun on my back, melting melting, simply looking at everything, and nothing. A slow soft gaze without purpose, repose-ful. Days like these fill up the soul brimful of light.
Nowhere to go, nowhere to be, except to stay in this light, bathing in it’s warmth.
Look at these happy campers. Just thrilled, I am sure, to feel the sun on their bright little faces. Tiny lemon drops of pure joy.
It has been a long couple of weeks since I looked out the window, since I lifted my face to the sun. It has been cloudy and I have been too intent on this little screen that brings the world onto my lap.
But the sun could not be ignored today, nor the cardinal that visits everyday,
and my favourite tree that, in the heart of spring, leans, ripe with berries,
over the deck and offers it’s fruit to my lips, my mouth, my hands stained purple.
That tree, that cardinal, this sunlight, my eyes gazing at them with silent recognition of how much they mean to me, how much I have missed them in just two weeks.
The world is still out there with all it’s messy, gritty, complicated beauty.
But for now, this sunlight, me, this simple respite of an hour or two, and my foolish desire for a beautiful, albeit, a simpler world.
Hope you are taking a respite, too, to rest your souls.
Take care of yourselves out there. Look after yourselves and each other.
Fall into silence.
Write, write your soul free.
Buddha under the tree.
Wings in flight.
Lichen patchwork and green moss.
Grey skies and a cloud of snow.
The light behind my eyes.
The weight of words.
Curling around a book.
The heaviness of sleepy eyes.
A parody of dreams.
Sleep, sleep, sleep now
and wake up to dancing light.