Centering

I woke up late this morning.  Gone was the pre-morning dusky dimness, the foggy promise of things to come, the chilly leftovers from last night.  Instead I saw pools of sunlight basking in deep shadows, green trees dripping in fascinating shapes and weeds highlighted so that they appeared to be intentional gardens.

As beautiful as formal gardens are, and I do love them, I really love the wildness of nature's hand when she's allowed to do her own thing.

I have moved many times during the past twelve years; from city to city and city to country.  I have lived so deep in the country that the sound of a human voice was a novelty that would immediately draw me out into the yard.  And I have lived so close to my neighbors that I heard their most intimate moments from the pillows I lay my head on.

Here I seem to have found a blissful compromise.  I live surrounded by people, but they exist mostly outside the tiny maze of hallways leading to the parking lot.  If I am sitting on my porch, the occasional person comes by, but mostly I have a private little garden no one feels the need to manicure in the midst of a large manicured place.

Here I feel as if I am in the center.