I was making my rounds through Honeychurch this morning. I tend to step through the merry weeds early in the morning with my coffee, just to see who has come to greet me with a bloom. Crunch went my boots across the crisp frost, across these silvery lapels on petals, the first shards of the sun softly landing on the tips of icy lipped leaves. My wildflowers were loving this once and only trusted moment in this part of the world: where the landscaped is caked, for only just a moment, with a layer of ice. For just a few hours, everything is splashed with a cold, polar bath.
And my wildflowers just love it. That quick plunge from 87 degrees to 43 set them reeling with an invigorating exhilaration. You could almost hear the soft pops of their blooms bursting open, then slowly stretching to reveal their simple magnificence. I was strolling by the front fence, watching little bits of beauty freely reach towards the coming, warming sun. The energy of this little piece of land right this moment was simply….rewarding.
I was looking at this stretch of green on this comfortable street thinking how….rewarding this all was. You have read this blog long enough to know that this whole journey has been about the wanted little house to grow flowers, a little place full of invited, deliberate joy.
I may not have a penny to my name, and I may not own this house, but I have been blessed and rewarded with exactly what I wanted….truly. I walk around dewy drenched stems, stalks of grass wetting my hems, and all while sipping (what I consider) the best damned cup of black coffee you ever did have.
With an exuberance, a little pep in my happy step, I headed through the back gate only to stumble upon the sickest, saddest, fattest squirrel you ever did see. I paused for a moment to find that that this tragic thing didn’t even seem to have a tail anymore. I cautiously walked towards it as it catatonically stared at me, its little head moving back and forth on quick occasion. Squirrels get nutty when they’re sick.
The closer I got, the more my curiosity grew. That….that isn’t a squirrel…that’s….THAT’S A LITTLE OWL!
I was no more than two feet from this darling thing. His head was studying me, bobbing up and down. For about 30 seconds we just looked at it each other with quiet interest. He then muttered something, then fluttered up rather gingerly and tucked himself inside the nook of an oak broadly hanging above us. He then stayed there watching me. He didn’t smile, for I’m told owls don’t do that sort of thing….however, I did see him wink at me.
I stepped away with the goofiest, giggliest smile you’ve ever seen. I’ve never been that close to an owl, let alone have one decide to live in a tree next to me! HA! Who knew Honeychurch was a zoo! Later, towards dusk, I popped out to ask if I could take his picture and he agreed. Thank you, little owl. I’m thinking your visit here has some definite meaning. 🙂
Then, as the sun faded even more, I dimmed the lights, put on some Vivaldi, cracked a beer and got back to my embroidery, the candle light tantalizing me with shadowed colors on the canvas. This was today’s progress, using the canvas I dyed with beet juice. When finished, I think I’ll call it simply, “February, Honeychurch.”
I can’t speak for anyone else. I can only describe the life I’ve had through the eyes of someone always anxious to find the spectacular simplicity in things, then expand on how intricate and beautiful they are. Thread through a canvas, an owl in a tree, and little purple flowers dotting my fence….These are the beautiful things my life have been rewarded with. And I’m so grateful.
Life is a hell of a lot better when you think of what you have, rather than what you don’t. And what I have is all I have ever wanted….and all I will really ever need….
That’s when it hit me. That’s what the owl said!
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