smelling the seven roses

"And we confirmed once again that those who do not sing cannot even imagine the joys of singing."

Today passing, lounging in the deep wine valour and soft satin cloak my mother wore when she was my age. In the depths of another Garcia Marquez novel interrupted thought for food preparation and the correct time for taking my expanded library of pills and tinctures for healing, now at seven bottles lining the ironing board in the kitchen. Lutui come and goes. He curles up to get a tummy rub or encircles my chair to be sure I am noticing and giving proper attention to the moment I'm in and more specifically him.

I was to be on the road over a week ago. Continuing my fluid landing in the states by visiting many states in a few months, many family members and many trees. My plans, if I can propose to make such things, were to be still after these coming months. Maybe some time at Kripalu, Omega or with a teacher keeping myself "outside" of myself and giving myself the space and environment to "let the weeds grow" like farmers allow for thier land every 7 years. A meditation was pulling at me, to breath deeply and get a rythem in place.

This is not something to plan for. As it seems I have my meditation. It exists without judgment or argument behind my lens. Film, not digital, is essential for letting go of knowing and being still... has been prescribed, along with the bottles, from my doctor. Resting, stillness, joy, clean eating. Seems just what I needed. The slow down that is work to listen to in my mind has been directed from the other side of the counter...And on my back porch I stare at the trees and REALLY enjoy the light.

A bike ride with my Leica slung over my chest, black and white roll inside and a smile on my face. So glad to be back with my best friend, in an environment where we live together just occasionally put aside for a tree that needs my large format instead. My daily rides are only matched by the daily walks with mom. These weeks are being enjoyed and learned from.