Bzzzzz, click, chick-chick, hummmmm – the sound of life in my garden. Hummers flit in and around the burble of the fountain. “Caw-ah! Caw-ah!” Hello my handsome iridescent friend. Crow has come to watch me work. He’s come to watch me arrange small stones in spirals and waves, curious for the shiny pieces placed here and there. He’s hoping for a prize.
“I would like to spend the rest of my days in a place so silent–and working at a pace so slow–that I would be able to hear myself living.”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, The Signature of All Things
Droplets of light dapple my skin as I lay my garden path. Whooshhhhh, the dapples dance as the breeze unsettles the leaves above. Silence. A butterfly pauses, wings like window panes in my church. My garden’s breath, it’s heartbeat, is that of my own. My garden is the place where I hear myself living.
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Author: sisterhearts1
I've arrived at an age where standing quietly in the shadows doesn't serve me. Standing in the light of the divine feminine and speaking/writing my truth is as vital as breathing. So here I am, feeling a bit naked as I open a small portal into this superhighway of high speed communications. I don't claim to be a wise woman, but a seeker of heart and spirit, a collector of wisdoms.
Since I was a young girl, I've felt spirit in the natural world. I've always stood in the balance of science and magic. Now as I approach another decade, the light of that magic lives in my heart. I find joy in getting older and believe there is great value in the wisdoms we carry. Recently remarried after raising three fiercely beautiful girls on my own, I am now a member of a collective voice of grandmothers and I love this new role.
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SisterHearts 