Brightfire Woman ™

Create. Believe. Become.


2 Comments

“Walk With Me” ~ Brightfire Woman

Walk With Me
 
In this moment…I am breathing in memories… to breathe into your life, of my walk just now in my garden. It was such a heightened sensitivity and the bond with this sea of form and color and joy that is now unfolding into that mature age when it actually does fill a three foot planting space. I was dragging paper yard bags of the offensive flowering weeds, actually I dragged eight bags, that were wet and I probably should of shook off more soil…and you see,
 
 I found myself in this moving moment.
I am caddy corner from this gospel church and I noted that, just like last night, they are spread out
in chairs on their front yard having service.
I have always liked the physical proximity to them best in the summer. To save money they have always had the windows open and fans here and there pushing out a vibrato of their choir. Sometimes, it is drums and electric guitars and kids belting out with every cell in their being. Beautiful cracking voice changing innocents, they are. Whenever I so desire and I can sit in that concert sometimes clean up to midnight.
By the third bag and with a wide burning pain starting in my lower back, I knew I would be smart to quit. Yet, each pass, the minister’s long familiar voice rose and carried me forward and I became aware that the strain and labor was part of loving the garden. It had become our natural rituals. I was protecting her beauty and growth by seeing there could be no mistaking them for weeds to be carelessly ripped up or ran over…indecently. Those are all flowers and flowering plants; I planted three seasons, so there is always something in bloom and something just interesting foliage. It was a nurturing, a cleansing them with removing that which would take the nutrients and water in what will be yet another risky business drought. The coneflowers already tend to droop mid-afternoon in a hotter than hell day 2, after a couple weeks of unseasonably under 70 degrees.
 
And I have this one variety that is thicker stem erect and the petals ruffle like Chinese origami matchstick thin tinged lime green and rose veined…and I felt my back straighten on it’s own. I could have asked for help, but the way I felt went from worn to shit to an inner Audrey Hepburn in a boa feather rimmed hat -positively regal and somehow grasshopper Monkish… like this one with this sci-fi flower.
And next was the Monarda, also know as Bee Balm, now breast high waiting to be felt with this crazy deep blood red crest falling, ostrich feather fine shaggy top knot tuft that flutters in a slight breeze, with the grace of Spanish Ivy blowing in the evening cool.
 
I felt filled in an exotic strength.
 
The next trip to the alley I notice that the White star gazers looked milk weed pod near bursting plump,
deep seams showing sun golden depths. And I felt their feminine full certainty.
And my arms grew so tired, but the drawing breath of the actual act of seeing to every detail of it’s care to the very finish after two ten hour days of groom and prune… made it all feel…
incredible.
I began to slow down and really feel the interaction between them and me; the old woman that didn’t get to the sea yet and what was tended to multiply and bear fruit on a few.
It started with removing all the car parts, broken bottles, metal and cloth, rubber and rusty tin that was a thick layered hide on the earth on which I walked with the intent of spiritual in peaceful service to letting it be covered in tall green things of the deepest beauty. Now, you can walk in it’s oxygen and look my garden in the eye.
Did I tell you yet? How much I have discovered I love the color blue? I have so many purple to blue varieties, who knew? And apparently very fond of screaming yellows. Oh, and orange…I really love nature’s color palette,
what vibrancy.
 
And with that last bag down along with the cans…
…I felt so good and blessed and filled with the strength and determination of neighbors that would save money even if it came to holding services in their front yard to praise Jesus to the dusky sweltering sky.
 
 
And I see now, that I have poison ivy…all over my hands…
 
Brightfire Woman © 2009 All Rights Reserved
Advertisements