In the growing season it is a struggle for me to balance my love wander and my love of growing things.. from inside here the mockingbird was busy filling the air with the song of both the phoebe and the great crested flycatcher (who arrived a few weeks ago). His give away was the repeats and the change of song. The shadows cast from the pine trees outside are my memories of gathering pecans with my family as a little girl. In the growing season wandering simply happens outside my front door, in my greenhouse, in the garden. There is much to see and do and there are new friends to make and old friends to welcome back. Winter wandering is expansive.. it is about space, about rest, and breath.. spring wandering is infinite curiosity, observation, awareness.. it is about activity, life, and growth.
Patch
This little patch of earth is the greatest paradox in my life. I long to wander and explore and commune with this precious earth - to see her beauty in all her corners.. to find myself amongst the wild things. Simultaneously I live for the flower season, for vegetable season, for butterflies, hummingbirds.. warblers, nests, spiders, and snakes.. I long for my back to ache from spending time with the plants that grow here and my hands to be rough from the dirt that clings to my pores. I long for the complexity in a silent starlit night and the symphonic satisfaction of cricket song.. The buzz of bumble bees and the yellow of black eyed Susan’s.. I long to bathe in mountain streams and crawl under the mountain laurel smelling the moss and damp earth.. and watch my little plants grow to become food for my family and medicine for my soul. My nature is both nurturer and individual - wanderer and hermit.. seeker and finder.. lost and found.. settled and restless.. I am all all the emotions and all the labels. I do not fit in a box nor do I fit in a circle..
Beard
Another in better light.. Because she’s only around for a few days.. Absolutely exquisite.. Pause.. Breathe.. Presence
Who is who?
All of my childhood I wanted a bullfrog friend. My mom brought me tadpoles two years that yielded the bullfrog I call Leo. This year, there are three bullfrogs in my small pond. Two are always together and this one is always alone. I no longer know who is who. Last year I could tell them apart due to size. This year, they all look the same. I love having them as neighbors.
