soft leaves, brown and silver line my steps and bed a log old, moss growing as darkness against new light green shrooms. there they emerge in layers scalloped, as if immersed in deep blue water. i stop, and wonder if I would have noticed them if I wasn’t alone, if I was distracted by chatter without real meaning or importance and at that moment, i am filled. my steps continue soft and light, alone.
Tag Archives: nature
bird song and water, gently flowing over muddied rocks rich with the scent of decaying leaves. peace from ease of a gentle breeze and me, alone with just my thoughts, content. clouds moving to full sun.
I’ve come to realize that being present really isn’t enough. That when I show and fully participate in life I appreciate all that is but that moment does not propel me forward. I do not take the next step. Silence is beautiful but it does not move me.
This year is going to be my THIS year. I am to show up fully and give my life some feedback, an acknowledgement. I am going to observe the sacred moment and mark it by saying THIS.
THIS is who I am. THIS is why I am here. THIS is what I want.
dawn’s light waiting patiently for darkness, slowly dissolving into night’s pool of awareness. full moon bringing light to the shadows, and contrast to otherwise flat softness, grey
my heart guarded
my mind clear
my fears real
my words unspoken
Freedom is in your awareness.
In knowing, what grows beside you as tendrils from your stem, your root. Maybe something from the past. A relationship, or wrong doing or mistreatment. They grow out of you and share your soil, your nourishment, and your light. Only when you become aware of those shoots, can you choose not to feed them. Only when you become aware of their life tangled and intermingled with your roots, can you choose to discard them.
Even then, even when you choose to slay their gnarled intrusion, even then, you still may not be aware that this life is just a small part of who you are.
Your task is to know this and grow. Because when your roots are fairly set, you can reach and grow no matter what the past brought, or what the future will bring.
I am the tree
Not just my thoughts, as leaves at the mercy of wind and rain or snow, who tumble and lift and twist but will not release from my branch. Sometimes bright green or vibrant or not at all.
Not just my desires as branches solid yet pliable and willing, lifting and sagging, bending with that wind and that rain. Sometimes breaking in dispare from a storm or the weight of snow.
Not just my body as a trunk, the years adding in rings, the bark hardening and becoming brittle. Sometimes eaten or pecked at devoured or decayed.
Not just my heart as roots wound and thick, outstretched, breaking the hardened soil and grounding me to the earth. Sometimes cut or pruned from negativity, making them turn and curl like toes grasping for the moment.
No. I am the tree, solid and tall, whole in all seasons and all weather.
My brow of sweat like children on a playground. Full and loud. Only warm water to drink yet joy fills my heart as I witness another, wings full, colorful and light.
In clear moments we see that we have a choice. That we don’t have to just let life choose for us.
We then realize that up to that moment of clarity, we were never ready for a new relationship because we had to trust ourselves, believe in ourselves, know that we could succeed on our own. We needed to know that we were all that we needed before we could depend on someone else.
Only then. Only then will we be ready for an equal relationship, that is based not only on the security of being a dependent, but also on the equality of being independent.
There are no expectations, no requirements. I am not expected to arrive, or participate, or adhere, or cooperate.
I am, and it just is. Happy.
Out of the frost
chirps of cardinals, wind pushing cool air onto my cheek rosy with frost, fresh and tingling almost burning, my steps rhythmic crunching and crunching as I move forward in my desire, the desire to change the landscape of my life from frost to mud, then warm sun, golden
Out of the frost I move with conviction to change.
What kind of person
What kind of person thinks of this when someone mentions “the morning after”?
What kind of person is willing to have cold feet just so that they can break the trail?
What kind of person only takes a sip of water or removes their glove in the sunny parts because they don’t want to cool off too quickly?
What kind of person thinks that the soft glow of the sun as it filters through silver trees and blue snow is one of the most beautiful sights in winter?
Me. Grateful. Happy.
Hats and hats
I’ve been making hats big, small, different colors and patterns. They’re crocheted around and constructed from the inside out so that I’m making a bowl that just keeps getting bigger. They’re awful but I can’t stop making them. It’s something about the process, the circle round or the fact that it’s a bowl I’m not sure but I keep showing up at family member’s homes announcing that I’ve arrived with another bag full of ill-fitting hats. Maybe it is a way for me to start a new year, a new ring around my life.