Tag: Mother Nature

Categories
Life

Sacred Sorrow

I was on my knees, in the garden. If she was a person, we would have been forehead to forehead, and I would be whispering my sorry into her skin.

But she was not a person.

She was a plant.

One that was alive before I left for twelve days of holidaying, and dry as a crisp when I arrived home.

I could have cried. I’d planted her and one other, just before Christmas, forgetting that we’d be going away and there’d be no one home to water them. I thought about them often while we were gone, just hoping. They both died. It was too long in such dry hot conditions.

In the moment I sat with her whispering ‘sorry’, I felt her. It was a sacred sorrow in the air, beautiful and sad, slow and soothing, one that only a few years ago I wouldn’t have been able to feel.

There are many who would laugh at me for loving, connecting and understanding nature as deeply as I do. To me, everything is alive, and I try to treat all the living beings in my care with as much love as I would a human.

It is my way, to love those who cannot speak for themselves.

It is a beautiful life of the deepest connection.

It is pure. And it is right, for me.

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Wildflowers

I must remind myself:

the wildflowers will wait.

Categories
Life

The Consciousness of Plants

The garden is abundant with Calla Lillies.

There is something about them that I know, something that speaks to me through the softness and sway of their leaves and sweeping, cupped petal.

Theirs is an energy much like the soft breeze of spring that I love so much. It is an energy elegant but dear, and I know that I am that. I know I am that very same softness.

I am not a vegetarian, nor am I a vegan, although I care deeply for animals and respect them just as much as I do the human folk I share a table with. I’ll eat the animals, though, because plants are also alive and must be sacrificed in order for my body to consume them. That consciousness lives within plants does not seem a far out idea for me to accept…because I feel every inch of their life.

Plants, trees, flowers, herbs… I believe they are all very much alive, and as conscious as you or I. Live a day within my skin. I assure you, you would believe, too.

Our limbs grow without us consciously commanding them to. So do those of plants.

We become diseased without consciously intending to, sometimes with death the end result. So do plants.

I eat plants because I have to, just as I eat meat because I have to.

I don’t take either for granted.

Life is beautiful life, down here on this great big spinning rock of ours.

I cherish every curve.

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Categories
Poetry

Withering

A rose. Think of it.

How like a rose we are.

Beginning as seed, gently, a bud.

How we open,

slowly,

never seeing our petals born;

never guessing when, at last,

the last

will fall.

And when we wither,

wrinkle and darling grey:

the beautiful rose that lived.

Think of it.

How easily we forget who we are.

Devine and growing.

Think of it.

Think of how lovely.

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Categories
Poetry

The Orchard

As I sit quietly, alone,

with the birds as my friends,

I watch the orchard

sway with the breeze

and I ask myself:

Is it the orchard, alone, I see?

Or has the orchard become

the miraculous creation

of the wind?

Categories
Poetry

The Rose

Even the most darling rose

is a work in progress.

Be the rose.

How beautiful

that she will show you the way

to freedom.

Categories
Poetry

The Wind

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.

Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

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.

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Day 28: Plant Mum forever.
Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

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.

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Day One. Thank you for stopping by. ❤️
Categories
Poetry

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.