Outside

I’m sitting at my desk looking out the window into the garden of the home we recently moved into. Our garden is wild space: an acre of old oak trees on a hillside, teeming with wildflowers and tall tall grasses and weeds. A haven for birds, squirrels, wild turkeys, and the occasionally spotted deer and coyote. A haven for my children, my dog, my husband, assorted friends, and me.

As I watch the wind dancing with the trees and grass fronds my breath deepens. My jaw rests into gravity. My sitting bones connect to earth’s pull, my spine lengthens. I exhale longer, more audibly. There is comfort and ease, and a slowing down of pace, that the natural world communicates, and seems to encourage, when I listen.

I feel as though I am drinking in the green of the newly unfolded and flourishing leaves. All the chaos in the world, yes. And this simple form of nourishment too. Resting into this view I feel unbound, released, freed from thoughts or worries, freed from time. Just present here and now with the wind, and the trees, and the green green green.

Suddenly sunshine breaks through the clouds, and the garden comes alive with golden light dancing the green tones awake. Excitement surges through my being. Change. And change and change again. There is no end to the surprising, dynamic play of the outside world.