Breaking on the stones

It is the night
before Easter,
the night
of the waiting day.

We are in the body
of the dark sky,
its breath
is cool on our skin.

We are walking
on the earth,
walking on the bones of it,
through the dark dunes,
through the quiet of them
towards the angry surf.

The sea is breaking on the stones,
breaking on the stones
over and over.

The roar of its fall
fills the shell of the sky,
fills the ear of our bodies.

We stand in its call
until we can hold
the force of it,
until it finds an echo
in our silence.

A door to another place

The garden has come alive in the sun and welcomes us in like honoured guests. It bathes us in green, it greets us with carpets of daisies and joyful shouts of buttercups. It soothes us with birdsong and the breath of a breeze. It knows how to spin beauty out of its myriad forms and fancies, changing each day with the seasons and the weather. It conspires with the sun to offer us an Eden that tranches the entanglements of the world so that time stops and all is good, all is delight, all is honeyed. The garden is a door to another place.

Soft sun

Hallo morning sunshine, hallo mellow peace of a Sunday garden. Welcome warm breeze, welcome singing birds. I have found a spot to sit in the sun so I can draw it into my system, let it ooze through my clothes and my skin to my bones. It has been a while. The sun seems gentler here than out on the street, here it is surrounded by green, filtered through air that is the living breath of leaves. It is hard to stay tense, all tightness drains away in the soft sun.

Trusting

Trusting. Trusting for tomorrow so that I can live in today. Trusting for arrangements to fall into place, and if they don’t, for grace to see the bigger picture. Trusting that I am not at work alone in this Universe, that there are harmonies of love undergirding us all. Trusting that my place here is secure; I have freedom to try, to make mistakes, to achieve, and to let go of achieving. Trusting that joy is never out of reach, that peace is always available. Trusting that the small things I do are as valuable as the big things. Trusting that this moment is all that I need right now.

Bower

I am sitting in a bower, hawthorn branches arch over me like wings. They catch the sun and sift its light. Laurel is my throne, strong leaves behind me touch my head while at my feet, to left and right, ferns curl. I am held by green.