There are images I lean on as if they were a cane when life and schedules seek to untether me from the essence of who I am.
In those moments, I seek refuge in a nearly meditative state until my mind can draw from an invisible well of haphazardly placed images—places, activities, people—which, when conjured, still my mind, slow my breathing, and help me feel my way back.
Once in this place, I rest beneath a canopy of maples laden with late summer leaves.
Ahead is a Madrone that leans out over a bank, its branches stretching toward the water below. In those spaces where the bark has peeled back a red skin trunk, my eyes are teased into believing a sunset’s kiss caused the tree to blush. The pines stand taller than I can glimpse from most angles, and everything, all this bounty, is framed by a harbor.
My mind remains adrift in this place like a feather floating on the wind. And in my mind’s vacation, I reach for a rake.
As swatches of color build—golden hues, crunchy browns, a few greens—the grass beneath rolls out as a quasi-green-brown-shag carpet. Younger versions of my children scamper beside me, sun-parched lips, pockets filled with shells and sand dollars, jumping among the leaves.
I lean the rake against the shed and grab the pruning shears and small ax. The old bramble patch pulls me in. Clearing and planting this patch is a restorative, if not cathartic process: dig-pull-clear-measure, dig some more, clear some more, re-measure, plant. I happen upon a root, a remnant of something long ago unearthed. It has wrapped around rocks and soil, refusing to budge.
Tools help. Chop-pull-chop-pull.
Eventually, just as every muscle cries out from the labor and marginal results I have achieved, a piece of the root gives way and lands in my hand. I sit and stare at the fractured piece of wood in the cup of my palm and puzzle over the origin and length of the larger, unyielding root seemingly cemented in the ground.
Am I granting it power over me in the very need to expunge it?
Shifting now, I place the small broken-off piece back into the hole and imagine the nutrients the root will provide—a compost of sorts, not the enemy to struggle with. A slow acceptance trickles through my veins. There is no real extraction of past life experiences, only excavation that becomes fertilizer for the future.
Time to transplant some beauty, I think, while unearthing a clump of perennials, Crocosmia, bright with orange, yellow, and red.
Later, the golden buds dance happily in the breeze. I imagine the tentacles of their roots burrowing into the dirt below—past, present, and future, wrapped in the essence of home.
Exhaling, I feel the ground beneath my feet, I am tethered once again.
Once again, my friend, your are beautiful and many-layered, even transformative. This line, “Am I granting it power over me in the very need to expunge it?” is one of the most powerful things I’ve read in a very long time and I appreciate it. xoxo
Thank you…xoxo
You are reminding me that Nature is a patient lover always awaiting our return.
great way to put it…thanks for being here today.
I love nature although I don’t have the skill or patience to tend a garden. I love to hike, and I really identified with this line: “I puzzle over its origin and contemplate the very length and power of it.” I’ve done this so many times. How old is something? Who else has seen it? What storms has it endured? What animals live in it. It’s a reminder that everything is fleeting and small in this world.
Thanks for sharing Jen, indeed so many things (and feelings) are fleeting…
Really lovely, Elin. It almost makes me want to garden!
Thanks Anne. It’s the only time I manage to garden when we are in the PNW, there, and only there! That garden is my church. Thanks for stopping by!
I especially enjoy reading the comments because each reader takes something different away from your blog. The line that struck a chord with me: ‘our experiences are merely the fertilizer of future’. So true.
Ahhh…yes. (You know my story)…our experiences don’t define us (unless we allow them too) but, they do inform us! xo
“Scattered among the leaves I see younger versions of my children—sun parched lips, pockets filled with sand dollars, jumping among the leaves.” <– so lovely.
Thank you Nichole.
Beautiful, you paint such an absolutely lovely picture 🙂
Thank you Melissa, glad you enjoyed it and appreciate your being here and reading.
Beautiful, Ellin, just beautiful. It makes me realize how transformative and nurturing nature can be.
Thanks Sheryl.
Your words are gorgeous and they are exactly how I feel right now.
My husband and I just returned from a long walk on a path surrounded completely in nature. The fall leaves spread around us. I couldn’t help but feel joy, but also it was a time to try and forget my troubles and be mindful of the moment. Ahhh, it felt good.
I will miss summer. I detest winter. Fall? It’s a beautiful time. Here in the Northeast the temperatures are in the 50’s and wearing sweatshirts is the new norm.
Love your piece, Elin. Wish I could wrap it up in a bow
I am with you Cathy, I love fall, your nature path sounds wonderful. Thank you so much for your very nice comment. xo
I was totally sucked in from the first line. Your writing conjures up images that I lean on when I need inspiration and examples of gorgeous sentences. For example, “Am I granting it power over me in the very need to expunge it?” WOW! Sharing this beautiful post with my husband, the gardener 🙂
Thank you Lois. xo
The beauty of your words, the way you spin them into a fabric that wraps me in the comfort of nature’s majesty–you leave me in awe. I’m in awe, not just of your ability to wordsmith, but of your ability to see the world so vividly and in such detail you are able to share that picture through ordinary words that become extraordinary when woven together.
Just amazing.
Oh my goodness Mary, thank you for this…and thank you for being you. xo
That was beautiful – and more importantly restorative. Perfect reading for a Sunday evening.
Thank you so much Toni for both taking the time to read and comment.