Do you know the scent of honeysuckle?

Syrpy like teenager's perfume

A candle that's been burning too long

A bird that catches the wind

A giggling baby

A bright summer day's cool breeze

It dances and bobbles like a leaf in the brook.

It floats along the neighbor's fence.

It pats the graduate on the back.

It's the feeling of freedom.

I love the earth. I love dirt. I love the process of planting stuff and watching the magic of growth. I love the toil and sweat and then watching things transform. I think I like sowing more than reaping...hhhmm. There is anticipation, hope, vision, creation when you sow. I love it.

This picture was taken last year, but just two days ago I went at it again. I got dirty, sweaty and sore. I knelt, bent over, crawled, pulled, twisted, dug, carried, planted and laughed.
This year's planting was even more exciting than last year's original creation! Last, year, as you will see in this photo, we started plowing the soil where it had been a lawn. We erected a fence to keep out deer and deep enough to keep out the critters. We strung old cd's to keep the birds at bay. We planted several vegetables but also some strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. It usually takes a few years to begin reaping the harvest of fruit bushes.

To my surprise, when we went out to plant two days ago I saw little berries and several blossoms on the fruit bushes. I could hardly contain myself. It was so exciting. The photo below was also from last year. It is just my little reminder that even though I need to wait for another month of rain, sun, and weeding, I'll be eating fresh organic salads and having berry cobblers!!

Blue Hosta

Today I hung out with my blue hosta for a few minutes and it gave me a message:

It is still cold and early in spring and most things are still small, working their way through the ground searching for sun, but the big blue hosta is already spreading its giant wings.

Some things are meant to be Big.
Some things are designed to get the Attention.
Some things are meant to catch the Eye- inviting the observer to come closer and notice the delicate things nearby.

However,

Not everyone sees.
Not everyone pays attention.
Not everyone desires to be aware.

Be you.

Ode to the Mothers

To you the Mother of all mothers

When we were yet dormant seeds
Cold under darkened veil,
you were breaking seas and pushing mountains

When you were still young
Freely exploring, sowing wildly
You expanded, contracted
Burned, froze
Created, Died

Your call to nurture was your nature.

The greens sang praise
raising their arms and clapping their hands
as you breathed over them.

The creatures hopped and crawled and jumped and ran and slithered and pounced to the choreographed song of green.

The deep recesses of your mind ever flowing
from mountain to plain.

Your opinions wound their way past each rock
Until they were persuaded to listen to your wishes-

Waters wear the stones

Granted wishes returned to the deep, deep blue
Where nothing is lost only renewed
Back into the womb, where blue plunges into black
Offspring plays their mortal chase

Then, O Mother, Sweet Mother,
When you were ready, you welcomed us
To grow within you, to enjoy around you, and to love because of you

Each wetted morning step kisses our feet
as your loving rays warms our faces.
You awake the trees from dreamy slumber with whispers through their hair
Their morning giggles waken the birds

All of us sing the melodies that merely reflect back to you the life you birthed in us.

Live on Mama Earth.

Tiptoe through the tulips

I was flipping through some photos of one of my trips to California and came upon this one of my nephew Benjamain who was enjoying the idea of creating photo art. He, of course, became my subject.

I love the feeling of unexpectedly coming across a field of flowers. The flowers were like a ballet choreographed with twists and turns. The way that the troop danced in the breeze was mesmerizing. The weight of each flower lent itself to it's own unique bows and bends. The costumes on stage were brilliant vibrantly detailing the intricacies of each stitch.

We couldn't help ourselves but to join their dance as we carefully tiptoed through the tulips, poppies, carnations, daffodils and layers of green earth.

Lilac

A little piece of heaven came into my home today.
The most buoyant fragrance of freedom floated in and filled every nook.

This gleeful piece of Mother Earth shared herself giggling throughout my house.

Look at her. Smell her. Hold her. Carefully place her in the center of my home.

In my garden

Some part of my consciousness awakens when I am hanging out in my garden. There is a quiet improvised dance that seems to start as soon as I pass through the tory. I take a broad survey from corner to corner then inadvertently something will call out to me for attention: a colorful bush, a tipsy flower, a playful visiting animal, a patch of grass, or a gnarly weed. I often take on a hound dog like quality lifting my nose to the sky inhaling the wonderful life all around me. Every time I pass by my lilac tree I fill every crevise of my lungs with that heavenly fragrance.

When I saunter around, there is a feeling that I experience nowhere else. The most descriptive word I can find is connect. That may sound trite or uninteresting because it is such a commonplace word, but there is a sensation of merging, attaching, enveloping that encompasses me from the outside in all the while I am erupting inside out. There is a palpable vibration that passes through my body viscerally. It's not really a thought or idea as much as a feeling that resembles invocation introducing me to a different plane of awareness and Reality. Time erases. Performance ceases. Obligation vanishes.

The garden and I talk. We discuss life. There is no need for words in this conversation, but the dialogue is rich, meaningful and intriguing. Perhaps I'll share some of our talks in the upcoming days...