Barefoot In The Sacred

Step outside the garden door,

fill your eyes with morning light,

your whole body with dawn fresh breath.

Sink your bare feet into the green cushion 

of dewy wet grass, 

your toes tingling with surprise.

In the heart of everything before you,

be still.

You are in the presence of The Sacred.

The Hawthorn Hedge

pixie black and white

Flower beds,

climbing beans,

cabbages, crisp and clean,

the narrow ditch

where nettles sting.

Snail tracks glisten

like silver threads on

the pile of stones at the garden end.

On hands and knees I hold my breath,

gaze through the gap

in the hawthorn hedge,

to the meadow,

where white horses tread.

And everywhere I look,

is new.

(You never forget that view.)

When I was very young, nature engaged in my make-believe games in complete and total co-operation. In my Grandmother’s garden,  every day brought a new discovery, stored in my memory box of sights, sounds, tastes, touch and smell, emotions almost beyond a language of descriptive adjectives. Someone said that birds, and animals perceive the world in a different way to humans, this is possibly true, up to a point. But what if, as adults, the ability to listen with our senses diminished along with our outgrown childish toys. The world is more than it seems, it speaks the language of the heart that we are all connected to. I trust my heart to engage with nature in total and complete gratitude.

Breath

Daybreak 2

Slowly, silently,

went the moon,

went the darkest

Easter I have

ever known.

This morning, I give thanks,

for your breath,

drawn,

for  your heart,

beating.

Slowly, gently,

with the dawn.