Mary/ April 14, 2016/ Decorative/Domestic, domestic, Gardening, Living, My Book Project, Uncategorized

I’m sitting in the garden. It’s Saturday morning. I made it halfway out to my office, which is in my garage, out back.

I’m weeping. I’m weeping because my heart is spilling over. I stepped out on the back porch with my briefcase: Busy Bee, Busy Bee…gotta get some extra work done…mentoring a colleague in a few hours, must clean up the office…tons of work…..just figured out how to use InDesign to get my book into production…It’s quiet in the house, the yard.  A blissful Saturday morning; the sun is finally shining, and it’s spring. It’s finally spring.

I step outside and hear all these birds –it’s a symphony. They are so beautiful. The world is alive…Alive with sweet songs and whistles and staccato twitters and I just have to sit down halfway down the path and perch my behind on a cold slate step. I just have to stop and listen. My heart is so full.

This is my garden. This is my sanctuary. This is me creating a space of beauty and serenity, in the middle of a busy life.  And it just makes me so appreciative for everything I have and it reminds me to stop…and feel.   These epiphanies – this place of richness and depth – is new and unexpected.  I’m having these moments of discovery more and more when I stop. Stop and take a moment to breathe.


It brings to mind the poem by David Whyte, “The House of Belonging”

I awoke

this morning

in the gold light

turning this way

and that


thinking for a


it was one


like any other.



the veil had gone

from my

darkened heart


I thought


it must have been the quiet


that filled my room


it must have been

the first

easy rhythm

with which I breathed

myself to sleep


it must have been

the prayer I said

speaking to the otherness

of the night.



I thought

this is the good day

you could

meet your love


this is the black day

someone close

to you could die.                              


This is the day

you realize

how easily the thread

is broken

between this world

and the next


and I found myself

sitting up

in the quiet pathway

of light.


The tawny

close grained cedar

burning round

me like fire

and all the angels of this housely

heaven ascending

through the first

roof of light

the sun had made.


This is the bright home

in which I live

this is where

I ask

my friends to come

this is where I want

to love all the things

it has taken me so long

to learn to love.


This is the temple

of my adult aloneness

and I belong to my life.


There is no house

like the house of belonging.


I’m taking in the huge infinity of wonder and good will and gratitude and I’m learning to just stop and appreciate the beauty of nature and the moment. In my mid-fifties it’s a new and exciting experience that’s taking me by surprise. And it’s glorious.