They have helped me wake up, and come back to myself again.
showing itself ever… only a tender cocoon… readying us for the life… yet to come.
Sometimes that is the way of nature, I know, some things are born and survive, and some simply don’t.
Instead of getting weary… I’m waking up. Coming out of that strange sort of summer sleepwalk, emerging like a hibernating bear of southern latitudes.
for an endless instant,
to stop, this miracle in motion,
nature’s hidden, fragile light,
beautiful and boundless…
I dove right in to the challenge the house and those gardens presented. And the love of it all spread and thrived inside me.
Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep for the winter…dig down deep into the earth and wake up to new warmth and light.
So I have only recently come to grasp that moving forward… means I have to stop looking back so often toward the ground.
It’s become a lesson for me in impermanence: How something can exist one moment or for years and be gone in an instant.
cold and strangeness sleep…
here, warmed at the fire… of my hearth … uninvited, but visiting still.