The human heart is bigger
than you know, so big it can
contain our infinite, mobius
universe.
Even better, it knows a
meadow is the place to find
our soaring soul in a red
tailed hawk, snuffling mice,
and infant flowers no one
will ever see, tiny sparks
of beauty sufficient unto
themselves, a balm in the
brumous scattering of our
conscious thoughts with the
overlay of music from a
watery brook
We say “ecosystem” to tell
of this three acre complication
of lives too small for us to
know, where prey hides under
rocks and leaves from ravenous
hunters in a system where every
particle of life is entangled with
itself. If you make the time, you
can watch the movement of all
living things blow trumpets of
desire, and bathe in pollen, crazy
frantic for a little action down
in the private parts of favorite
flower; the sun sizzles heads,
backs, fur, carapace, faceted
eyes and soaring wings, alike.
And there you are, on the
verge looking out of your
self, into beauty too deep
for your crusty feet and
clumsy tread, but if you
listen, breathe, assimilate,
the invitation will come, so
you surely know the most
important thing you will ever
do is lie down on the grass and
stick your fingers deep in the
dirt from which you are made.
Only now can you hear the
Earth sing, “welcome home.”
This felt much like I just did some meditation and it feels good.
I love going out into nature and just sitting there listening to the sounds. I heard them here.
Just me and Mother Nature…and she appreciates the visits.
j.
DO dodo dodo dod doddod
Me too, Jacob, but just think of the millions of New Yorkers have no idea…
Vol
‘‘ you surely know the most
important thing you will ever
do is lie down on the grass and
stick your fingers deep in the
dirt from which you are made.’
You’re words are as near my reaon for becoming a garden designer, Vol. Lying on your back amongst buttercups and daisies knowing the sky is up ‘there’, looking down is – a miracle. Tis believed that time outdoors is one of the greatest healers; we’re taken away from a world that is gradually disappearing! Before it disappears, may I join you, sir!
Emma,
My dreams have so much room in them…
It does have a bit of biographical leaning I think you caught… I remember reading a Virginia Woolfe short story where the main character is at a window watching her hostess puttering in the garden. It was there that my fantasy of a British cottage was built…
Vol
ANYTHING Virginia Woolfe has written is more than fine with me, Vol. Her range and sense of emotion is second to none in my book (arghh – not meant as a witticism!) Strange tho’, have been called similar cos in the Summer and wandering my garden need wear a widebrimmed HAT cos of my fair skin, plus I shove bits and pieces into the TRUG I’m carrying. Either that – but far less ‘romantic’, am pushing a wheelbarrow about! Yes, ejg also putters!
Joy,
My mind’s eye thinks your wheelbarrow is sexy, Nd working in your garden with you there is a work of art…
Vol
How very kind.. have never thought of my wheelbarrow like that – laughing! There IS something natural and bare of artifice in gardening. Can spend hours outdoors, keeping my garden as natural as possible. Not a gardener for self or anyone else in making it out of excess wooden this and that or layers of brick all over the place! A little persuasion can work on people, some of the time. But would rather lose a job than polish and vacuum the all about!
Depending on your place in this space we call ‘home’, am always looking for a helping hand or few!