I only have a few more days at what turned out to be an urban "summer home" (Most people in a position to do so head to the country for the summer, but I always seem to go against the grain...) The place was perfect for me. I thrived in a setting that nurtured both my contemplative side and the health of my body -- but it turned out that a contemplative person wasn't what this little community wanted, energetically. Of all my recent moves, this will be by far the hardest. It's tough to dig up your own roots when they have started to curl down into the soil.
The place where this happened is the house's "garden" (I had to call it that, but it is, in American-speak, a postage stamp-sized back yard). The actual garden by the back fence is relatively wild, with bushes and unruly hostas, weeds, one coleus, and other plants shaded by a very tall old corner tree. (Oh dear, all I know is that it isn't a maple tree or an oak tree, the only ones I can identify!) An even more enormous tree next door has an almost perfectly rounded profile that, in certain lights, looks like a halo. A smattering of herb and flower pots on the eastern side of the yard is a visual focus, attracting bees, hummingbirds and occasional butterflies. (I added two colorful red and purple flowers to balance all the green, satisfying my inner color theoretician.) Part of my routine over the dry weeks was regular watering of these pots, and the basil, chives, parsley, and rosemary were regular ingredients in our cooking. What a delight simply to walk out the back door, cut the herbs, and return to the kitchen! The grass hasn't needed much cutting this summer, but when necessary, it is done by a hand mower.
There is one bench, where I spent countless hours reading and writing, and from which I could watch the small cadre of animal regulars -- two extremely playful and acrobatic squirrels. Cardinals. Robins. Chickadees. Mourning doves. Early in the summer there were two rabbits; sadly, one was recently found dead near the front of the house, possibly the victim of some feral-looking cats that put in an occasional appearance. Sounds that I will forever associate with this summer? Police sirens, the simple bell of an ice cream truck, loud music from passing cars, planes overhead, distant highway traffic, strong wind in the trees, and the thumping of basketballs and the happy chatter of kids playing the game.
My new destination isn't completely firmed up; I am doing as little as my rather drained psyche can stand in terms of micromanagement. I have to leave the Goddess in charge of this one. Where does she want me? Where will I do the most good, using the gifts she gave me? Who needs or wants those gifts? I have been very aware as I have calmly soaked in the energy of The Garden that most people around the world right now do not have this quiet luxury. I am grateful to have had such an interlude, but I am not complacent. Since the 1990's, I have known that a major transition would start by the 2020's, and that it will affect everyone, no matter our location. Nature has no choice but to try to regain the balance that has been thrown off by lopsided human progress. Part of why I love this garden is that it is a model for an intentional "conversation" between nature and the people in it. Even the topsoil beneath my bare feet feels happy. Earth itself longs to feel happy, just as we do. And of course, we are one with each other...
