The Heart of Light

Some of my best memories are of me laying on my belly, on a boat, watching the sun set. There were other people aboard but I shut them out. It was just me, words and the painted sky.

Some of the most peaceful and soulful memories played out by a window, in a jazz club with a singer who couldn’t sing. I had my headphones on listening to Anita Baker tell me how fairy tales fail. I didn’t believe her because when I sat in that cafe by that window, it felt as if I’d left a small city to travel to Paris for just a few hours. I sat in my mini Paris with coffee and a journal, writing poetry, watching the rain glaze the real world.

I got a much needed break from myself, my thoughts and even the family with me, when we hiked through a national park and felt the ground under our feet, felt the air go in our lungs, felt the wind, felt the sky, felt with every fiber of my being. Even though there was a lot to see, I usually kept my eyes low. It was the tiny things I was looking for. I wanted to see the patch of moss that survived under a huge tree. I wanted to see the curious bugs, the way the grass moves, the way leaves pile one on the other. I saw roots of trees reach into the water and hold leaves it used to house. I saw fancy dressed rats, native birds and of course deer. 

Some say that their peace is on the back of a horse. I found peace beside my girl Sunset as I led her with handicapped children aboard. After her hours of connecting with children it was just me, her and a brush. She was beautiful. I don’t like to ride, I’d much rather walk beside.

Nesting Place
Nesting Place

Crickets, crawdads and frogs are what my friend and I went down to the creek to find. We always let them go, we just wanted to see them up close, hold them and look at their funny feet, crazy arms and strange bodies. Our fingers and toes dangled in the water. Funny how the water ignored us. If my fingers touched the water it still kept moving. If my toes touched the water, it went around, between, over. It was a lesson that beauty exists at all times, even during the war time of childhood, my teenage years, as a young adult and the war of being a middle aged woman. Nature and beauty stops for nothing.

Small things touch me the most. Scales on a fish, tiny leaves making their start, a patch of mushrooms, moss, more moss and maybe a little more moss gets me really excited. Wildflowers are my favorite to find. There aren’t many over this way but when I see a patch I love it enough to leave it there.

Nature makes me happy.  Watching the rain, walking in the sun, laying on a boat, catching frogs or just walking; nature has been a way for me to escape myself, leave my issues, and truly breathe.

Two days past, for the first time ever, I saw a black butterfly. I have a small painting of a black butterfly in my room. The art is just scribbles of ink layered in the form of something I didn’t know is real.  How did I miss that?

I’m still looking, and I still accept, all the beauty this earth has to offer.

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