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Morning Gift

Morning Gift

Not yet quite awake, I got out of bed at first light and made my way cautiously down the stairs, crossed the room, and opened the door to the greenhouse.

Once  I had climbed the short wooden staircase, my feet hit the top layer of the three feet of smooth stones meant to collect and store the radiant heat from the sun. They clicked as they shifted slightly under the weight of my feet.

Rhythmically they click-clacked as I moved slowly in the new dawn’s dim light toward the tables that held the six-packs of seedlings I’d started weeks ago: snowball marigolds, basil, baby’s breath, peppers, tomatoes…delphinium, squashes, radicchio…

As the sun glazed the top, then broke out over Menefee Mountain and streamed through the glass, a wondrous sight lit before me.

Six or seven long, dark pink stems covered in fuzzy bristles leaned away from the sunny glass toward me. The tallest was perhaps two feet high; each supported a single bowl of a flower, open and wide with a small dark button in the center. Their green flesh was like that of an aspen leaf, papery, yet clear and fresh and smooth.

Dumbstruck, I remember thinking, “I’m sure I never planted any seeds like these...”

They began to sway in slow motion, and then began to bob and nod and weave in complex figure- eights…and as they danced they spoke. Their voices were like glassy chimes, first single bright notes at a time that began to blend into chords of conversation…a minor here, a major there.

I watched and listened closely, a smile working its way through my body all the way from my toes.

But no matter how carefully I listened… I couldn’t tell what they said.

3 responses to “Morning Gift

  1. Three feet of smooth stones…I have just one layer of river rocks on my path around my postage stamp garden – how I envy you your greenhouse! For a long time I didn’t have them, but the town hall needed to remove layers from their gardenspace and told us just to take. Bare feet on those are wonderful therapy and they dressed up my space like a japanese sculpture garden.

    “There are moments of silent depth in which you look on the world order fully present. Then in its very flight the note will be heard; but the ordered world is its indistinguishable score. These moments are immortal, and most transitory of all; no content may be secured from them, but their power invades creation and the knowledge of man; beams of their power stream into the ordered world and dissolve it again and again…” [Buber]

  2. Such a good quote to go with the gift of the dream, juliania. We live on the tail end of a glacial moraine, so these rocks were tumbled by glacier-power, rolling and pushed and rolled along by frozen water until smooth, but often pocked.

    The greenhouse stones were smooth in my dream, but not in fact, Dreams can play with life and nature, and lead you to imaginings not possible in the waking world, or at least for me. And as Buber said about those notes, their power invades creation.

  3. I was aware reading of the significance of the rocks, wendy, since before you had told me about your staircase and the physical effort which has if it brought you pain, even intensified your need to write, to the great benefit of many of us.

    Your site here is as an oasis, and I have come here this morning after reading some of the writings of the Iraq blogger Riverbend. I will have to return to her blog and read everything she has written.

    When the Iraq war was imminent I wrote a petition that was passed by our town and I sent it registered mail to the White House. That, I feel, was my only contribution to the antiwar effort. You have made so many and this site reflects that in a similar spirit to that of Riverbend, I feel. You suffer physically after a Sisiphyean effort that embodies the human spirit in this time under duress greater than our powers to overcome alone. Hence the urgency of writing, because writing motivates and is far-reaching.

    Thank you.

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