Gardenia, Heirloom bowl, Morning light
An Ode to An Object (I Think Plants Count)
I’m attempting to create a ‘zone.’ An area of reprieve and beauty. A place to sit and feel the breeze.
It’s a slow process of creation here in our new abode. We moved in about two months ago and are still settling in with basic practicals. Besides the necessities of plumbing and utility hook-ups, I want to create a space of inspiration. So I start with the garage.
Open-air and red dirt-stained concrete, I am on a mission to transform rough edges into an oasis of greenery. A place where one can breakfast among potted plants. A shady respite from the sun in the middle of a hot day, where one could sip lemon water with a friend in the shade.
I’ve positioned some chairs. Planted some succulents (beautiful, but hearty) and placed them on stands nearby. I’ve hung plants in macrame, envisioning a wall of green to grow.
It’s a start. And taking a load off in my garage-turned-green-sanctuary, I watch the plants hang, their leaves blowing in the breeze. They may be small, not yet to their full potential of jungle-like lusciousness, but there is foliage, nonetheless. These pots offer up the soothing peace of verdant beauty that only plant life can.
This is an ode to the objects of beauty that are transforming my garage into a garden.
In the presence of their flora, my mind is eased. My body cooled.
Though I’m wondering: how is it for these typically earthbound roots to find themselves mid-air?
I guess the answer is in their progress. So far, they seem just fine. I’ll keep watering, monitoring, enjoying their calming presence. Giving thanks for the gift of green.
– Today’s post is in response to The Daily Post challenge “An ode to an object.” I have committed “For the Archives” to the “Blogging 201” two-week intensive course, with hopes to further my skills as a writer/photographer and reach more amazing people like you. Thanks for reading!
Power
“I call middle!”
Jeb scootches in beneath the blanket, nestling himself between the Bohemian and I. We are laid out on the lawn, under a dome of stars, watching a curved shadow slowly creep across the moon.
Gazing skyward, we play “Techno Cosmo,” guessing whether any light-in-motion we see is human-made or celestial. We see mostly ‘techno,’ though the Bohemian catches one shooting star and both of my family members observe an inexplicable flash in the sky. I missed it, as my head was down toward the bowl of popcorn situated in my lap.
Of course, the big show was the ‘cosmo’ event of the full lunar eclipse. By the time the entire moon was covered in a hue of warm honey, Jeb was asleep, and I too, was fading fast. The Bohemian sang a quiet Czech song, lullabyesque, as I drifted off. Between the realms, I could discern one word – lasko. “Love”.
It was nice to be away from artificial light. Linger outside in the dark with the wind, the clouds, and one big old moon.
I guess we hadn’t had enough of grassroots, as we awoke this morning to no power in our house. In our abode we need electricity for water, lights and the internet. So before sunrise I was back to the basics, enjoying the irony of a couple of candles juxtaposing my laptop (which still ran on battery power).
With no way to reach the world-wide web, I contemplated the stamp upon my candle. The molten word “nirvana” glowing golden, just like last night’s moon.
For the Archives 