I am so excited about this new year. Anticipation. Beneath the surface I feel magic brewing that is going to erupt into the universe. Soon.
For me, January is mindful writing month as I commit to noticing something every day and writing it down. I am not alone in this. There are other mindful writers scattered all over the world and together we are creating a River of Stones.
It requires discipline, especially on the days I spend in paid employment, rushing to the office, rushing home. Resistance arises.
I don't want to notice anything.
There's nothing to see that I haven't seen before.
I'm too tired.
I don't have enough time.
And then I take a breath and relax back into my body, remember my commitment to myself and start to look. Then I see the world around me.
Through the Lillypilly’s weepings
The sun’s splintered silver wands
Slender, elongated neck,
smooth and thorn-ridden
in a swift beheading.
The open wound,
a pale straw pith.
Her mottled glory
scattered, faded, dying,
Rectangles everywhere in this grid of a city;
historic cobblestones line lane ways;
rows of windows, lengthwise, width wise, rarely square;
slatted metal barriers enclosing the multi-level car park;
smooth stone panels of a high rise facade;
the train doors that open to the underground station
and it's bright blue paneled walls;
red clinker bricks some painted charcoal grey;
slabs of concrete paving the walkway
and in between the city towers,
the irregular column of sun-drenched sky
luring eyes upward
On burning bitumen
paper-brown leaves whirl dervish.
A round of candles burning draw a crowd of joyful singers.
At the last hooray the wily wind sneakily snuffs them out.
Birthday girl stands poised, mouth open, lungs still full with that one required breath.
Instead she laughs and blows anyway.
Pond bugs ping the surface from below
shooting sunlit sparks and rounds of ripples retreating.
Above the jagged city, a soft summer haze
as the sun silently slips away,
the horizon blazes brilliant gold.
Through the dust smeared window:
office buildings soar skyward;
toy-sized cars and trucks speed east and west;
yonder bricks and mortar intermingle with trees;
the silvery bay flecked white
and a stationary tanker awaits port.
The flame tree burns crimson
She is waiting for me at my door as I emerge to start the day. Her eyes pool the sky, her nose points chocolate brown, her static coat softer than creamy cashmere. She is demure softness until she blinks, moves four silent steps forward one padded paw at a time, bares her jagged teeth and unfolds a lengthy mew; strangled lion in a pussycat’s body. Cranky demands a smooch.
|Water + Light = Evening Delight|
|The path next to my favourite Moreton Bay Fig Tree, Botanical Gardens Melbourne|
|Sun descending through tree, Botanical Gardens|
|Light, Botanical Gardens|