![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Rain articulates the skin of everything,
pink of bricks from the fire they baked in,
lizard green leaves,
the wrinkled tongues of pine cones.
It's accurate the way we never are,
bringing out what's best
without changing a thing.
---Excerpt from "The Weight of Oranges" by Anne Michaels
My days have been fugues lately. Or perhaps they have always been and I have only become more keenly aware of it. I look through spring as if it were a kaleidoscope. It is my habit since childhood. I find myself focused on the smallest details, the imperceptible threads that tie me to my surroundings. This is what sitting on the ground under a solstice sun does to you, I suppose. It's a natural reaction to feeling the earth in my hands again. I have begun my garden anew; sewing purple calla lilies and holly ferns in place of winter's shade, tending the tender seedlings at my windowsill. I will have musk melons, cucumbers, ripe cherry tomatoes, okra, and blackberries. I smell the promise of the harvest all around me, through me, connected with the renewed sense of wonder at each minute step along the way. My mother accepts me back to her each spring and for that I am thankful. I am thankful that the circle always comes 'round to remind me that I am not floating free, but that I am tethered by earth and love to what sustains my spirit. My dogwood tree has begun to bloom, and the rain is warm enough some mornings to bathe in while the deer watch from behind their trees. This is my communion. It is enough for me. Because it is everything.
pink of bricks from the fire they baked in,
lizard green leaves,
the wrinkled tongues of pine cones.
It's accurate the way we never are,
bringing out what's best
without changing a thing.
---Excerpt from "The Weight of Oranges" by Anne Michaels
My days have been fugues lately. Or perhaps they have always been and I have only become more keenly aware of it. I look through spring as if it were a kaleidoscope. It is my habit since childhood. I find myself focused on the smallest details, the imperceptible threads that tie me to my surroundings. This is what sitting on the ground under a solstice sun does to you, I suppose. It's a natural reaction to feeling the earth in my hands again. I have begun my garden anew; sewing purple calla lilies and holly ferns in place of winter's shade, tending the tender seedlings at my windowsill. I will have musk melons, cucumbers, ripe cherry tomatoes, okra, and blackberries. I smell the promise of the harvest all around me, through me, connected with the renewed sense of wonder at each minute step along the way. My mother accepts me back to her each spring and for that I am thankful. I am thankful that the circle always comes 'round to remind me that I am not floating free, but that I am tethered by earth and love to what sustains my spirit. My dogwood tree has begun to bloom, and the rain is warm enough some mornings to bathe in while the deer watch from behind their trees. This is my communion. It is enough for me. Because it is everything.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Uh, sounds good, did it make sense.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
"My dogwood tree has begun to bloom, and the rain is warm enough some mornings to bathe in while the deer watch from behind their trees. This is my communion. It is enough for me. Because it is everything."
because it is everything.
thank you cate, for sharing your beauty.
you are a breath of fresh air. :)
ooh, and this too! "I am thankful that the circle always comes 'round to remind me that I am not floating free, but that I am tethered by earth and love to what sustains my spirit."
-someday i will have a garden of my own. for now i will live vicariously through yours.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Your post reminds me of The Empress, btw =)
From:
no subject
From:
Re:
From:
no subject
Your writing is like a breath of spring air...
I hope you are well. I've missed you! ~deb
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
Home
It is a feeling I cannot really put into words, but that you have done so eloquently.
When this time of year comes around, there is a magic you can feel in the air, that is like no other time of year. In the morning when the light hits just right on all the foliage and flowers are glistening and glowing. It is a feeling, no matter how small or large your garden or where you live that makes you feel a sense of home. Not exactly of home as in "a house" but home as in being a part of nature and returning home, full circle.
From:
Every now and then
From:
no subject
I have no words elegant enough to express my thanks for this, but I do have a question...
may I post this in the 'Things of Beauty' community?
This post was actually my impetus to start it, and I think it would be fitting to actually include it there.
From:
Re:
From:
no subject
Hello Catelin,
My name is Katia and something that Frawst wrote to me today led me here to this entry. I love how you write and feel and connect and... know.
I feel soulfully bound to add you and I ask that you add me? so I can have the pleasure of reading you more often.
Thank you for the lovely breath of fresh air...
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I feel like I've magically stumbled upon the golden key to the giant jewel-encrusted treasure chest that is bursting with my favored treasure of them all - shimmering words.
I've just spent 30 minutes at your journal and I think I was holding my breath the whole time.
Thank you so much.