Angst

Oh, the luscious feeling. The splendor of a pitter patter heart, a racing pulse, blood pooling in recently reticent places. Quiet moments of reflection are invaded by insistent images of passion and lust. Do I want that? Do I want to enter the unnerving realm of junior high angst? Do I want to waste my time wondering what he's thinking...if he's thinking of me? Isn't it better to be in control, to smile indulgently at his protestations of affection, to be calm, to be cool, no lover's fool, running every show?

Do I want to forego the luscious feeling?

I don't think so.

Heaven on Earth

So cold, just two short months ago. Cold, barren, lifeless.

Work was all I did, for three long months. I worked. I took Kevin to school in the morning, I did a minimum workout at the gym, and then I went to work. I talked to my friends, went to a few parties, but mostly I worked.

I cleaned as little as I could get away with,keeping dishes clean and laundry done. Kevin swept and mopped, Scott dusted a little, just to keep things habitable, but mostly, I worked. And worked. And worked.

New Guy brought me a rose...twice...but they wilted and dropped their petals.

One morning in early March, I awoke to find these growing in my yard. I planted them under the ample arms of three braided dogwood trees when I first moved into this house, 23 years ago. The dogwood is long gone, but these ever faithful crocus remain, growing in the grass.

Then the tulips came up. Remember them? I wrote about planting them in October.

The magnolia buds swelled and burst.

The hyacinths overcame their shyness and showed their colors.

And the beautiful blue radiated spring.

The daffodil hangs her head in shame.

For what? The forsythia sings in harmony with the sad daffodil, unaffected.

And the tulips? They slumber no longer, rising sap runs through their veins.

The magnolia buds stand on the precipice of blooming.

Pistatios are notoriously late for performances.

The lilac lies in waite.

Periwinkle colors the walk to my front door.

Growing Roots

I crouched on the ground next to my garden, carefully caressing the prickly leaves of the turnips, and the radishes, and the kohlrabi, growing green and abundant in my miniature farm. The radishes were round and red and ready to be harvested. Beets, bright purple veins bulging in fan shaped leaves, swelled from the soil like cleavage through a tight sweater. Shiny green sheened balls beaconed from the kohlrabi.

I watched in wonder at this growth, seemingly overnight. I couldn’t even remember planting the seeds.

My alarm buzzed a warning, awakening me from my garden reverie. I slapped the snooze and lay back, pondering my dream.

What do root growing dreams mean?

Later, I climbed furiously on Larry the Elliptical, reading about Shamanism from my Sun Magazine. According to the article, in native American dialects, balance and beauty mean the same thing. To walk in beauty means to walk in harmony, in balance. Studies have shown that classic beauty is simply being symmetrical. I know that my face is not exactly symmetrical and have never fancied myself as a classic beauty. But…I do like to think that I’m good with harmony, that I have attained a balance in my life that many people seek and never find.

So this year, I’m growing vegetables, primarily root vegetables, in my garden of delight. I’m digging deep, fertilizing heartily with wholesome and earthy bits, I’m pruning where I must and coaxing what I want. I’m seeking a bountiful harvest.
Several crops of root vegetables can be grown a season. They can be started early and will grow well after the first frost. They keep forever in a cool dry place.

Am I sacrificing beauty for bounty? Or am I simply seeking balance…

Poem

A poem, written today, during meeting:

Swaying, deep and low in their thickest trunks,
Feeling the wind, not fighting it.
Moving in rhythm, finding the rhyme,
Seeking balance.
Trees don't question the direction of the wind,
Instead, they dance with it.