Ever feel like your world has gotten smaller? I have trod the same paths over and over. I have been forced to explore and pay attention close to home. If you ever visit the bit of earth and sky that I’ve inhabited I could tell you so much more about it now than I could 6 months ago. A strange thought this, that as we travel elsewhere, each bit of earth and sky has been someones ‘patch’. A ground made sacred by forced repetition. Each bit of earth and sky that has been home and witness to so many people, and days, and narratives.
In the light of this I must remember to tread more gently.
I took a walk, back along, in those hazy summer days we had in May in the late afternoon. I found myself slowing until I stood stock still, in the holy light that is cast by the falling sun, drawn to the lengthening shadows sighing out their day. The shadows gave permission to expand, rest in the cooling breeze, soften inside and out, accept the day that is almost done, rejoice that it is not yet dark. The shadows spread and stretch as far as they possibly can, allow themselves to take up more room. This is the gift of the closing day, the sun that accepts us as we are, that says ‘I’m glad you are here’.
This sky above This earth below The close shadow of the morning who dares not venture too far from its source, learns by early evening to spread and stretch as far as it possibly can. To allow itself to take up more room. The flowers sitting just an inch above land, peering between the multitude of blades of grass, know exactly when the dark is due. They fold themselves in, tuck in safe. They say 'Now is the time to hunker down, , to live quietly, gently, the whole night through. Trust that light and warmth will come with the dawn and dew When our faces, and yours, will open gently again, toward the sun'.