Thursday, October 28, 2010

this barren patch of earth

It's downright nippy outside this morning and the wind is howling around the house, as I sit, tucked inside in warmth, admiring the sunshine and enjoying my morning coffee. It's just before work and everyone is fed and off to jobs and school and I have time to reflect and write. Just me, my coffee and my laptop, watching the day unfold with silent curiosity. It's this time of day when I begin to realize that no matter what I have planned, I have absolutely no idea what direction today will take. It's wait-and-see.

Looking out on my backyard, after a long and dry summer, my grass is finally vibrant and green, especially against the backdrop of the empty nakedness of the trees. It's stunning, really. Though all the world is winding down, to me this part of my corner of the earth is brimming with possibility.

When you look at this picture, you might see just a rectangle of brown or a pile of dirt. But I hope you don't. Don't be deceived. If you look really closely, with your heart and with faith, it is entirely different. When I look at it, I see sunflowers with their hairy, prickly stalks straight and tall, heads turned upward to the sky. I see deep purple eggplants and luscious crimson tomatoes handing on gnarled vines, large green leaves of bean plants and light blush of sweet pea blossoms. I can smell the moisture of the soil and feel its softness as it squishes between my toes. This is what it really looks like, all hope and promise and tasty things. I am so excited I can hardly wait.

I think I'd like to face my days like this, more with openness and eager anticipation. I want to see the possibilities that lie just past the obvious. Busyness blinds me sometimes to what isn't just inches from my face. It's depressing living that way, seeing only dirt and no flowers. I want my days to be lush and sweet-smelling.

So all day today and then tonight, when the day has darkened and the mercury dipped to nearly freezing, from inside these toasty warm walls, I will hold in my mind visions of the salad bar that my yard will become, and bear in mind that I need to practice patience to see promise.

I can almost taste the tomatoes.

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