Hey friend, how’s your day? I hope you’re getting some delightful weather. It’s well and truly spring around here, even the daffodils in the coolest part of the shade are in full bloom. Each one of them speaks of my father’s hand, I count myself blessed to have such a strong and present reminder. Even with all of the things I’m supposed to be doing lately I’ve still managed to at least begin to get out to the garden to try and get things into some kind of shape for the coming season. I know I’ll never be able to do the job he would do, I just don’t have the benefit of something like fifty years of experience. But I will do what I can, each small move I make reminding me of my family’s love. Yes, even with all the challenges that this too normal life holds, I consider myself so very lucky.
Today wasn’t any particularly spectacular activity–I spent an hour in the afternoon pulling various weeds and tiny trees from places they shouldn’t be. It was good to just get into the rhythm of doing, mindful and thought-quiet. I know I should think of it as a chore, but I’ve always wanted to be able to do such work in a place like like this. Never really had the chance aside from short bursts. But now, at least for a time, I do. Lucky again. Some would call it a blessing. I’d find it hard to disagree.
Isn’t it funny where your mind goes when your hands are busy? I know some people feel that keeping the hands busy frees the art/holistic part of the brain from the logical/detail part that is usually in control. I have no idea whether it’s true (although you might check out a book called ‘Drawing On the Right Side of the Brain’ for a really great introduction to the whole concept). But I do know that I often feel like I think more clearly while my hands are busy doing something which is engaging but not significantly challenging. Dishes, driving, pulling weeds–just about anything will do. So that was maybe why I found myself thinking about the nature of love. I know, strange thing to think at that particular moment, eh? No real reason. I had an exchange recently with a kind person and I guess maybe I was still thinking about it. I’m sure I said it badly, but I had tried to express a particular thought about love. We were talking about love and caring and all of those various forms of positive expression toward others. I gently suggested that my feeling is that it’s not actually love until it’s expressed in action. I think I was trying to point out that before the action I think it’s something else–maybe even something positive–but I don’t think it’s love. I’m pretty sure the fellow disagreed with me. I know I’ll have to try and make a little more sense of what I’m getting at. But at the moment I’m fairly convinced there’s some kind of truth in there that I’m trying to express. Probably saying it badly, of course. But the thought has been with me for a long time. It’s not love until it’s expressed in action.
Ah well. The sun is going down, the last of the golden light is playing on the trees. From a distance those trees show that cloud of growth in their branches that comes with the first full budding of the season. Soon there will be deep greens and reds and the sound of the wind in the broad leaves. But for now it’s that light shade I used to call ‘honeymoon green’. The phrase was another bit of my personal kind of foolishness, you’re right. But the promise represented by the beautiful clouds in the trees remains.
I hope this day holds some beauty for you, friend. And some promise. Thanks as always for sharing your thoughts, and for encouraging me to express mine. There is some love in that, no doubt. I look forward to our next visit. In the meantime I hope this finds you well.