It is that time of year when the rabbitpatch looks just a bit wild. It is always a brief affair and one I have come to look forward to. Not yet, has the territory been tended , other than branches are piled in the garden, for the day that I am brave enough to burn again. All sorts of uncivilized blossoms dot the countryside. There is the wild mustard and the ground ivy . . .and the chickweed. The bees are not complaining, so neither will I. The violets are back. They have a quiet and pure beauty -shy, but dignified – I will not utter a single complaint about them either. How carefully I step along the footpath to the garden these bright days!
The quiet garden, is awake, now too. Old branches don tender young leaves. The bench to rest and dream upon needs painting and there is some tending required in general. No matter how kindly, I speak to the roses, I will get scratched in the unmerciful battle.
Now, the peach and cherry trees have a few “early bird” blossoms in a sort of prelude, to their long awaited finery, yet to come . . .but the spireas are in full bloom. The stark white tendrils of a spirea are dazzling and that is putting it mildly. The spirea is only seen on old homesteads, these days. I wonder how shrubs like spireas and “Sweet Bettys” and snowball bushes -and quince, ever fell to the wayside. Of course I am sentimental about all things. I just never can abandon a thing of beauty.
When ” flowers appear on the earth”, seemed like a fine time to gather, so we did. We met at Mamas’ for a mid day dinner and an Easter egg hunt. Christian played his guitar for Lyla, Brynn and Ryan, while Delores and I hid the brightly colored eggs by daffodils and in clumps of clover. The eggs sparkled in the sunlight and were easily in sight , for this was Ryans’ first hunt! There are few things more delightful than watching young children on an Easter egg hunt, I think. . .and more than ever I deliberately seek the purest forms of beauty, these days.
When a gathering ends, life always dulls and regular readers know I am likely to mope . . but I could not help but brighten at the sight of the winter wheat field, across the road , from the rabbitpatch, upon my return. I was “raised on field and wood” and now in my later years, these things are still as beautiful to me as they ever were. Extreme and rapid progression or” leaping without looking”, has yet to taint, the serenity of a field of winter wheat. It is the greenest green around and nearly shouts vitality and life! The trees are singing too. . .sweet, soulful melodies composed by watery jade leaves. It is no wonder that mornings are filled with the joyful and unceasing chatter of songbirds! Now, with first light and the birds, an alarm clock holds even less value at the rabbitpatch.
Some of you may remember, that a month or so ago, I declared a time of quiet, for myself. I have adhered to it and what results! When one is quiet, observance becomes your means of education. Truth shines more clearly and seems to loom right before your eyes! Truth has always been important to me and I have sought it with great fervor. I have been easily fooled countless times and left bewildered, too. How dull and fruitless it is, “to lean on your own understanding”.
Watching life, does not change the facts – but it sure does require a lot less work on my part. Please understand, that “watching” does not mean a lack of participation. In fact, I am finding that my desire to participate hasn’t diminished at all. The difference, is an increased awareness of how to act… and when to. . in short, how to proceed. “Being still” is all it is cracked up to be.
By now, I am convinced that I have never had an original thought -or said anything first. Many a sage implored all of us, to do this very thing. . .and how many times did my elders say, “Silence is golden” ?
They were just right about everything.