The wind, I think,
is peace.
The breath of the earth.
The song of the trees.
And we will bathe in her softness,
today,
and every day.
The wind, I think,
rolls all days into one.
May she catch us
and show us
the truth in her song.
Tag: Mother Nature
Categories
Little Koala Arms
Such adorable little roots.
And no one is more surprised than I am that my plant journey has taken me this way. It was just the way of the wind and so I flew there, in a great big gust of life, and suddenly I’d begun propagating succulents.
What you do is: you take a leaf from the plant and you let it sit in the world to do nothing for a while. The idea is that the wound (where the leaf tore from the plant) dries out and, when it does, you place the leaf on a bed of soil and lightly mist over the coming weeks. That’s when it happens. That’s when the teeny tiny roots appear.
Such adorable little roots.
My little darlings have begun to dig their arms so deep into the soil that, when tugged, they come away with an arm full of soil, clinging like little Koala arms to the soil below.
They remind me of my baby girl. The way she clings to me as I wander about the house, knowing I am her only life line, the one she needs to feed her and grow her perfectly into this big old world.
My succulent babies are the same. They cling to their Mother (Mother Nature) and she breathes them to life as they hold her.
The whole act is a vulnerable one.
Such adorable little roots.
Such achingly tender little Koala arms.
Categories
Flowers
The flowers opened with the rooster’s crow and closed as the sun went down. Everyone called them weeds, and that’s what they were if you were someone other than me.
Whatever their name, they woke and fell asleep with the sun, like us, and that was just so beautiful to me.
I’ve lived in several houses where this sort of ‘weed’ rose upon the front lawn like a problem to be dealt with, and though the grass was neater upon their official doom…it was never quite the same. Never as alive. Never as lovely, such is the vibrance of dynamic life.
And so it was that I loved that lawn much more when the weeds were alive.
Because Shakespeare was right.
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Categories
This Way, Life
If not this moment,
when?
If not under this orange-grey sky,
beneath these sweeping willows, fair,
where?
How do we taste the rain
and know it is good
if we do not open our mouths?
The warm salty promise
of new found life,
calling us home,
asking to grow our bones
in partnership with the sun.
When? Where? How, life?
Now.
Here.
This way, life.
Categories
This Great Love
I am the soft of you
and you are the soft of me.
There is nothing
that taints this great love.
Nothing,
not even the words
you cannot say
while I stare,
while I marvel at your majesty
and blooming life.
Sweet nature.
Sweet love of my life.
I see you, darling.
Good morning, sun.
And river.
Flowers and trees.
Happy day to you, wind,
and the bird song you sweep over mountains.
(Good morning, birds, and mountains, too.)
I will let you be, this day of life.
I will let you all be as you will,
and I will call you
lovely.
Categories
As She Will
The sun is one
but never can shine
as one.
Her rays will splay,
and always touch the world
(in slices)
as they do.
How they splay
is a question for each new moment.
Who they will touch,
and in what way:
undiscovered.
The sun will shine as she will.
The sun will always shine
as she will.
Shall I sing to you only of sun shiny days?
I cannot.
The clouds are grey over the meadow
and the rain falls fat and cold
upon the emerald green.
I will not tell you the sun is shining.
It is not.
The day is grey.
It is grey, and it is beautiful.
So incredibly beautiful, you see.
How lovely the humans are
as the tulips tip toe around them.
Today
there is a deep sadness in the rain.
I feel it in my belly,
and I ask it to be kind
to those who feel the pain of the sky
when it cries.
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