The sun surrounds

In the back there is a gently slopping grassy hill that extends down to meet a shining pond.

The sun is bright.

The pond itself is long and narrow, curving around a bend in both directions and giving the impression of being rather larger than it is.

The sun is warm.

Especially when tendrils of wind stir the surface, creating the illusion of a current – then the pond transforms into a stately river as if by magic.

The sun is a caress.

To one side, obscuring the bend in the pond, trees lend their leafy branches to heighten the impression: the waters go on forever.

The sun illuminates.

On the opposite bank stand more trees clothed in their autumn glory, creating a colorful swaying backdrop.

The sun surrounds.

I lay upon that grassy knoll, underneath that blessed sun, charmed into peace by that glorious day.

Birdsong

I listen to the drizzling of rain and birdsong.  Behind me, an open window allows the damp perfume of watered earth, sweet moss and trees to surround me.  The lulling melody, the clean scented air a purification with each moment, with each breath.  I am calm.  I am well.  And so I breath deeply, sit quietly, listening, wondering, glad.  This moment is birdsong.

Pink as all get out

Remind me later I have a really good story to share.

What’s it about?

I can’t say. Not here. But, WOW, it’s great! Just thinking about it has me smiling and clapping my hands. I’m pink with pleasure.

I’m incapable of reminding you outside of this place, and equally unable to hear any story not spelled out for me. Duh. Does being “pink with pleasure” make you stupid as all get out?

Insulting me doesn’t help … Actually this makes a perfect memory jog – remind me with the code words “pink with pleasure” when the hour is more convenient and I’ll tell you my fantastic tale. This is going to work out great!! Good thinking!

And “stupid as all get out” wins by a landslide.

This is me unloading the dishwasher

I really should come in here more and say stuff.

Pity.

As in, it’s a pity I don’t. Not as in, give me your pity.

If a tree falls in the forest…

There’s a saying, “if a tree falls in the forest, but nobody hears it, does it make a sound?”.  It’s incredibly philosophical.  Amazingly, awesomely philosophical.  Almost too much so – I barely understand it really.  What is it even about?  Truly think about if for a moment … read it again ….  I think it’s about perception, and I think there’s something to say here about truth.  Here’s my reasoning: Of course trees make noises when they fall, we all know that, we’ve all heard it, whether in real life or on TV.  So the answer is yes.  But what if a tree fell and nobody heard it?  What if nothing at all heard it?  I really mean it – nothing – not a bird not a bug, nothing.  If we could say beyond a doubt that nothing heard the tree fall, then there’s our proof.  Nothing heard, which means nothing to hear, which means no sound to hear, which means no sound was made.

You must be tried or something, because this is both dull and whacked out.

Excuse me, but I am sharing!  This is my sharing place where I can “weave” whatever thoughts I choose into the “fabric” of my blog.

“Whatever” “man”.  ”Use” quotations “much”?  All I’m saying is I wouldn’t want to read this.

Then don’t.  Go. Away.  You’re interrupting, AND creepy.  I never really figured out who you are in the first place!  I don’t like the fact that you exist and I don’t want you here!

…

Good riddance!  … Lost my train of thought, so I’ll get to the point.  Things are what they are inherently, and we can’t change that.  What we can change is our perception.  Arguments in philosophy can always be stripped down to a difference in perception, which makes perception more important than facts.  What can change perception?  Persuasion?  No.  If we all see everything differently, then does truth differ?  Is there then no truth at all?  No certainly there is truth, because this I know and this I believe:  Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me.” (John 14:6)  Again I ask, what can change perception?  Truth can.

That was much better.

To do: blog

To Do:

1. Bills
2. Mail
3. Laundry
4. Thank you cards
5. Hang pictures
6. Endure

Mold in my Marigold

In celebration of the new year, I planted seeds.  I got little pots, nutrient rich soil, seed packets, and put them all together in the order correct for life.  From my happy place, a drawer full of stationary, I selected two small art nouveau sticker labels, wrote “Marigold” on one, “Lavender” on the other, and attached them to the little pots, in the order correct for identification.  The effect was delightful.  I was delighted.  I placed the two little pots of Hope and Potential on my desk, next to my email, where I could draw strength.  Water for life, light for growth.  I had a sudden thought, a potential issue – oh no! – winter is a poor choice of season to plant vulnerable seeds.  Don’t they need warmth too?  I had a sudden inspiration, a gleeful solution – ah ha! – if I cover the little pots I can create the greenhouse effect right there on my desk, next to my email, so the waiting seeds can have a Chance after all.  With a skip in my step and a cackle on my lips, I pulled out some Christmas cellophane, clear thick plastic with jolly blue snowflakes.  I cut two squares, dug through the junk draw for two rubber bands, and neatly covered the little pots.  One day waiting, one day checking.  Eager Marigold with vivid green sprouts.  How quick they appeared one day, just the other day, with tiny leaves, two for each stem, 20 stems, 40 stems, 60 stems total.  I saw them, under the blue snowflake-ed cellophane, pressing up with faces towards the sun.  The effect was delightful.  I was delighted.  I debated with myself then, if I should remove the cellophane and expose the little sage shoots to the wintery room, or if I should allow those slender-lings another day undercover.  I opted for leaving them as was.  Another day for watching.  Today I looked in upon the Marigold shoots, and ripped off the cellophane cover in horror.  Less vibrant, less green.  Weak, sagging brown.  And Mold.  Mold in my Marigold.  How did this happen?  How did Death and Petulance creep its way into my Hope and Potential?  Cellophane – my gift of greenhouse warmth turned incubator for life sucking Mold.  I had done everything right, and I had failed.  I had a sudden thought, a potential lifeline – oh yes! – I still had the Lavender.  Slow sleepy Lavender.  Today I looked in upon the Lavender pot, and ripped off the cellophane cover in haste.  Count them, one, two, tiny baby heads just breaking the surface.  There I beheld another Chance.

 

Marigold and Lavender

 

To be continued…

Never-mind

When you think back on the year, what stands out?  Can you remember?  If asked to recite the events, in order, you would not be able to.

Prove it.

I’ll name a month, and you tell me what happened.  I’ll even narrow the scope.  Speak of your own life, your own doings and your own cares.   I’m looking for specifics here, not ‘I woke up, and went to work’.  February.

Fine… you go first.

Memory is fallible, that’s all I’m trying to say.  We need to pay attention and make a conscience effort to remember.  Journal, take pictures, talk about the past.

The past is past.

To know where you’re going, you must know where you are.  To know where you are, you must know where you’ve been.

That’s trite of you.

That doesn’t make it wrong.  We are so dense sometimes, it takes looking back to realize what was happening, what it meant, and what it means today. 

Historians agree.

Now, don’t be mean.  I was trying to make a point, but you’ve sidetracked me somehow.  Never-mind.

Lavender Seeds

I like buying seeds.  I love their potential.  Turn “bottom of purse” change into vital growing plants.  How cool is that.

You never plant them though.  

It’s like magic, really!  The seeds are so small and hard and dry.  Like little pebbles.  How does it become a flower, a tree? How does it happen?

You should plant them.  The seeds know what to do.

 

Lavender Seeds

To be continued…

A lullaby

There’s music in the night

Voices sing gladly to the stars

To the sky

The moon is a sliver

A peeping face

A broad smile

The trees are whistling

Humming

 Murmuring

 A lullaby

All is dark

In the stillness and the many breezes

Dances light from the moon and the stars

Wax and wane like the moon

Like the tides

Like the song