a safe place for me is my garden.
actually - gardenS.
i have gardens all around my house.
this morning as i went out to put something outside,
i got sidetracked with one of them.
i stopped and started weeding it.
knowing i only had a few moments...
but i didn't care,
i really needed to be there.
it felt good to know that.
it felt right to claim the moment.
i found myself talking to the plants.
something i do constantly every time i'm out there.
but i seldom notice.
this morning i noticed.
and i noticed how normal that is for me.
i noticed how comfortable i am out there.
i noticed how while i was tidying up the garden
and nurturing the plants,
my insides were also getting a cleaning and a nurturing.
there's something about the plants -
their aliveness, their beauty -
they quietly and gently touch inside me.
and i'm wondering why i don't go hang out with them every single chance i get.
why is that?
why is it that the things that feed our souls
aren't always at the top of our list of places to spend our time?
excuses like heat, humidity and bugs fill my head.
and i laugh at how i can misdirect myself over and over again.
and how mild discomforts can end up leading me.
shouldn't the deep comfort take charge?
i'm thinking yes.
i am so thinking yes.