Thursday, July 31, 2008

July 2008

The meadow behind our house is very alive. Every time I go, I see something new. As the weeks roll on, the meadow changes; hay falls, folding over the Yarrow, Queen Anne’s Lace reach for the sun, a spark or two of Goldenrod begins to flower. Asleep are the purples that first greeted us. If we had mowed much of this down, as planned, we would have missed this; the different stories of the meadow.

In every little nook - blackberries! . . . dark and plump, waiting to ripen. You can’t rush those. Beginning a pinkish red, only the sun, it seems, can paint their rich, final coat of midnight-berry-blue. And she takes her time. They look ready, but a slight tug on the vine tells you to wait. And if you do, it’s sugar in your mouth.

The meadow has its own life, its own pace. It’s up to me to sit back and listen. Participate in the unfolding. But not to rush it.

And so the blackberries sing me a song of patience, reminding me to breathe in, step slower, and blend with Nature’s rhythm.

If I sit back . . . and let the meadow come to me . . . I’m always rewarded. I simply have to say, I’m ready.

Anthea and Marigold have a whirlwind of new friends: a dashing box turtle, three dappled fawns and their proud mother (triplets!), a broad and rolling groundhog, baby bunnies that spring on bouncy feet, 13 baby turkeys nestled in the grass, majestic soaring story-book herons and a medley of colorful birds learning about birdfeeders ….. All hail the meadow!

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