When I was a girl,
I loved carving roads and rooms and rhymes
into Autumn ground
with the crunchy art supplies
dropped by generous trees
~a whole season of scraffiti,
the sweet-smelling earth my canvas,
patterned with mystery
like crop signs
whispering delicious secrets.
I spent hours playing
in the nooks and crannies I’d created,
my imagination happily wallowing
in newborn spaces.
There were stores to keep
and cottages deep in magic woods,
always with a corral for my very own horse
(my trusty bicycle with the banana seat).
I felt fully alive scratching out my art
through masses of fallen leaves.
Now, in the Autumn of my life,
I still find joy scratching through debris
making art in tangled up and troubled spaces,
drawing near to chaos
and pulling out the light,
trimming, pruning, weeding, shaping, planting and sorting
until bits of earth are singing again,
freeing both gardens and their people
disentangled and calm.
I love it, this sense that we’re carving oxygen and order
into spaces gone clogged with constriction.
I so dig seeing living things come unfettered,
making room for beauty to stretch out cramped legs
and make herself at home again.
in my own overcrowded places
there comes a release from more clutter
and I can see more clearly the love,
reaching out to soothe and sort the tangles in me,
leaving carvings in my soul
like those left by the paths and patterns
of my childhood rake
so many Autumns ago.
"Such love does the sky now pour that whenever I stand in a field I have to wring out the light when I get home."
St. Francis of Assisi
And, hey, I posted this two full Autumns ago
but it still fits like a glove
and this week was too wild for words
so I’m resting deep in my paints
and letting them find me
when they’re ready.
Huge grace to us all.