Just The Heavy, The Shears, and Me

I left my neighbors’ home-on-wheels last night, full of warmth and peace. Swiss mushrooms and chocolate, too. I went to bed looking forward to some time in the gym in the morning, following a generous offer to “show me the ropes.”

All creatures slept soundly and we woke up to the sound of roosters, announcing the day, calling the sun.

The sky was dark when I fed everyone breakfast, and as pretty much all mornings down here, I drank in a full helping of serenity and gratitude. It’s hard to have this much big nature around each day and not tap into an awareness of both how magnificent it all is, we all are, and also how tiny.

I remembered the gym plan, the painting waiting for me in my studio, the beach walk we would have later on.

And then, I read the news and the thought of stepping outside my garden seemed impossible.

I have read the news before, but today I wasn’t ready for it. I had very little padding, very little armor and it made its way in. Names, places, terror, unknown, too well known. I still don’t have many words that will work, so I won’t try.

I canceled the gym. I allowed the heaviness to move in all the way because this morning, I did not want space from it. I walked to the garden hose, turned on its red faucet, and I gave the plants a big gulp of the water that won’t fall from the sky for several more weeks. I let the leak in the hose drip onto my pink furry slippers and soak them a little. Then I went to the big plastic crate that holds my garden tools, picked up leather gloves that have seen better days, some shears, and I started pruning the palm leaves. One at a time, making light, making room, giving the bougainvilleas space from the fronds and giving the hibiscus space from the bougainvilleas. Stepping back, sloshing a little in my slippers, moving closer again.

There were no thoughts, just the heavy and the heavy seemed glad to have a place to go. Together, we pruned. We created a big pile of leaves and some of the bright flowers went into amber-colored bottles. No thoughts.

Just the heavy, the shears and me.