Friday, July 12, 2013

A Writing Refuge

 Today the breeze blows gently across the clover where bees light from flower to flower,  providing a respite from the summer heat.  The garden boxes are full of blooms and produce that await adoration and plucking.

The peace of the farm fills me to the point of tears and threatens to overwhelm me. 

At this moment ..... it is just me.

No one needs me.

I am away from the call of household chores and the beckoning whispers from things that are undone.

Their imagined pleadings are cleared with the wind.

The sound of birds twittering in the tall oak just beyond the market and the humming of bees in the lavender to my left thrum along the lay lines of my soul and awaken a passion that has been simmering for far too long.

The farm is alive with work and purpose and serves as a reminder that I must fulfill my own purpose. There is no way to skirt past the life that is drawn here.  From the people that come to purchase the food that sustains them and their families, to the existence of the flora and fauna that provide sustenance to bees, birds, butterflies and the unseen life underground.

The place is a comfort to me.

A place that feeds my soul.

Whatever this place is in the grand scheme of it all, to me, it is peace.

1 comment:

  1. Thrum ... what a cool word.
    The red chair among the herbs looks like a good spot to relish in the beauty of your surroundings.
    Peace is a good thing!