In our new home, I treasure the abundance of windows and the lack of blinds, because the view is one of nourishment, even as autumn bares her limbs and skeletons dance at dusk. I want to see everything around me. Every glance reveals growth in a middle-earth landscape, not of myth but of climate and experience, as a balance shines through her natural cycles. Even in autumn’s rituals of release, I feel protected, surrounded by trees going into hibernation for a brief spell, the “spell of the sensuous” that heralds matter and mystery in communion.
A tangled web welcomes my vision, an intricate web of vines and branches exposed, revealing themselves as twisting, bending, falling from above and caught before they can hit the ground, their many paths a visual splendor that shields. Here is a multi-dimensional tapestry of revelation, extending far into the forest, across ravines, down steep hillsides, climbing to open pasture; a tapestry no human could weave except in our hearts. I am giddy within this wooden ring, this home is the center for me and mine (though it is the perimeter for another) where we become a patchwork overlay within the movement of the wheel of life that is Mother Earth.
This is all part of life; to release is to prepare for growth. Yet even bare, beauty remains constant, an exalted testimony to fecundity, to flow and ebb, to breathing shallow, with longer pauses on the exhale, a sinkhole into the serenity of momentary stillness. Then, a crooked path beckons again and I inhale, tracing a mysterious growth that happened under cover of bold proclamations and explorations that hid the inner expansion.