I’m a better writer when I’m not actually writing.

1 Nov

As I worked down the final 50 foot rows, the last weeding then mulch layer, I realized I was writing a pretty good blog post.  I only wish I could remember it when I’m finally sitting at my computer.

I was mixing up my special blend of mulch and crowning my plants with it.  I was thinking about the fall, knee deep in tangy leaves in the forest of my youth; helping my parents bag the leaves for compost and mulch way back then.  I just wanted to run through the woods, kicking up whirlwinds of leaves looking for magic but there was always work to be done.   A peek under a mushroom, pick up a perfect acorn and catch the brief scent of cranberry then pick up the bagged leaves and load the old truck.  I hear my mother’s voice; “Just look at the good black dirt.”      I loved fall.  I loved the whirling leaves floating, catching light then disappearing into the texture of their brethren at the feet of the trees.  To be the good black earth.

Everything I need is right here. Everything that is needed by the ones I care for is right here.  I just need to unlock the puzzle, remember.  Each day is perfection.

Today a light snowy blanket silently deepens over the fields, the garden and the deck.  I am rejoicing in it…it is complete.  Complete perfection.

Last night I stood under the glittering blackness and rapidly counted 3 shooting stars.  With only binoculars you can see 3 moons of Jupiter and the crisp slice of crescent moon with dimples.  An owl hooting in the canyon heralded the arrival of All Hallows Eve.  Just as it should be!  Welcome and be at peace you many souls, all is as it should be.

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