In new shoes, even the most well-worn paths feel fresh.
The day passes in delight – breakfast with Mom, planting, weeding, watering, and a neighborly chat in the late afternoon sun. At one point during yardwork, back pain slices through my torso like hot metal. I rest in shaggy greens to watch clouds eat the sun. Standing in place, nothing is never not moving. Brown spiders, the mama jay on her nest, the smell of Lilac every now and then. Hearing worms turn the earth is no big surprise these days.
Considering deep time, we don't really have a prayer. The evil of bickering politicians and the baleful hunger of those who gorge on power is irrelevant. We have become the instruments of something fearful, something greater than ourselves. How divinity unfolds in this infinite whole is mysterious yet affirmed. Go ahead, fall apart; there is nothing left to hold.
This year, new guinea impatiens and coleus. Vibrant salmon, fuchsia, and purple hang in the reminder to give oneself over to the other in hopes that we may recognize our higher self upon arriving. A kinship arises when we don't know what we want – when we cannot articulate the desirelessness that masquerades as objectification or envy or companionship or love. That's what this is all about, yes?
On the trail, lace dotted with ants coils the rusted remnants of barbed wire. Rose-breasted grosbeaks, bees and the season's first mosquitoes. I'm tired of wasting energy on getting or doing or conforming. This and other ways to leave room for unknowing.
old path / new shoes
beginning to feel
like letting go