There is a lot of acceptance in the air this week. Friends and family are having their fair share of suffering. A conversation with a colleague lead us both to recognize the power of surrender, yes, of giving up, letting go, release, laying down, and all the ways this is shown. Acceptance is the finest color of this idea, with the attendant peace, or at least clarity of seeing. Stories can then be put aside, folded and placed on the mind's back shelf. My kitchen, the garden and the home then move to the front as places of refuge and renewal, like a small universe of tranquility. May your days be filled with clear seeing and not the clutter of storytelling.
D.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
End of summer
Autumn Haiku
Sunlight slants
In the garden
Leaves prepare to fall
There is a wistful quality to the fall, when nature begins the return to dormancy, to rest from its unbounded growth of the summer, when the cicadas finally stop singing their relentless heat mongering drone, and the change of light signals just how powerful its influence is over us all.
I like the autumn season. It makes me want to cook warm unctuous things that nurture the spirit and mimics the light, the change. I turn to recipes of biscuits and creamed squash, and want to surround myself in orange and gold, bringing out new towels for the kitchen and new seasonal arrivals like pumpkins and gourds.
But here in Texas it is a little soon. Hot afternoons of 97 degrees hardly say sweater, and yet there is this presence in the air, a softer light in the southern sky and the knowing of the body that says to get ready, as if a guest is about to arrive and will want to share some stories, ones that we have heard each year before, perhaps some new ones to add, some new grace to be perceived.
Sunlight slants
In the garden
Leaves prepare to fall
There is a wistful quality to the fall, when nature begins the return to dormancy, to rest from its unbounded growth of the summer, when the cicadas finally stop singing their relentless heat mongering drone, and the change of light signals just how powerful its influence is over us all.
I like the autumn season. It makes me want to cook warm unctuous things that nurture the spirit and mimics the light, the change. I turn to recipes of biscuits and creamed squash, and want to surround myself in orange and gold, bringing out new towels for the kitchen and new seasonal arrivals like pumpkins and gourds.
But here in Texas it is a little soon. Hot afternoons of 97 degrees hardly say sweater, and yet there is this presence in the air, a softer light in the southern sky and the knowing of the body that says to get ready, as if a guest is about to arrive and will want to share some stories, ones that we have heard each year before, perhaps some new ones to add, some new grace to be perceived.
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