Monday, September 9, 2013

Softness

There is a certain softness in slow living. It is as if grains of sand have worn down the edges of the day. I look out into my yard from my recuperation sofa and I see the white pine I planted a few years back...its needles sweeping the breeze, so soft you could use them for bedding. Just imagine the dreams that would come your way, wrapped in that piney fragrance.

Even these spruce cones have a softness to them.


The sedum and the Queen Anne's lace are in full bloom with cottony clouds of pink and white offering good things to the bees. Even the raindrops, which have appeared just as I begin to write, have no urgency.

And who is enjoying these softened days most of all?  My dogs! Curled at my feet and on the sofa next to me, they remind me of a favorite poem Mary Oliver wrote in honor of her pet, Percy. She's written many. This one ends,

"And next to me,
tucked down his curly head
and, sweet as a flower, slept."

Softness is about yielding to whatever harshness or sharpness there might be. It is about giving way so that better things may happen. It is about turning the other cheek. About whispers that speak louder than shouts.

During these days of recovery, I have to constantly remind myself that I chose this. That I knew going in that I'd experience a down time...a period of inactivity and softness so that I may soon be able again walk down to Quarton pond, to ride my bicycle into town. Remember?





1 comment:

Jeannene Beebe said...

I have just discovered your beautiful writing. It so resonates. I love the places you go. They feel very familiar.

Jeannene
(still trying to find a pal to curl and my feet while I write.)