The Night-Blooming Cereus is putting on quite a show in our Colonia San Antonio courtyard tonight.
One night only, folks. By morning these beauties will be withered old crones, bereft of the intoxicating scent currently filling our home.
Rose spotted the — what shall we call it? — the chrysalis of the Cereus earlier this afternoon. Raul our gardener was just as excited to see them — there are two. We missed the blooming of several of the cactus flowers earlier.Continue reading
And I turned to you and I said No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature And the father in the garden
–VAN MORRISON, “IN THE GARDEN”
So I sit here in the garden, in the early summer light
A cup of coffee grows cold beside me
In the stillness that morning brings, fleeting stillness
The workers next door have not yet stirred to break the silence
With their hammers and saws and boisterous shouts.
There is still room for the birds in the dense green
To sing their songs, perform their magic,
Find love among the branches.
I don’t know the geography of this garden by name,
Only by the heart, defined by what my eyes take in:
The delicate flowers, the flirty birds, the twisty vines,
The shaded coolness of the branches. So many voices
of green, vying for my attention. I know
Only that it is too beautiful for me to rise and exert my will
Where it is unwanted, unasked for, upon another day.
An empty bag awaits upstairs with a ticket to somewhere far
And I only know I don’t want to leave the garden.
I want to sit here in the peace, in the coolness,
Listening to the plants breathing ever so lightly
Parsing out their secrets ever so lightly
Unlocking a state of grace ever so lightly,
Grace I can not achieve no matter how hard I try.
Outside, mothers and fathers walk their children
Hand in hand to school as church bells chime,
A touch of grace all its own.
I see their shadows pass on frosted windows,
And I sit and listen to the plants.
And listen to the birds.
And listen to the silence.
And my coffee grows cold for I dare not move
I can not move,
I don’t want to move.
I want only to become one
With the stillness.
In the garden.
While there is still time.
I have so many pictures of the flowers and plants that fill our courtyard that I want to share with you. This oasis. This sanctuary. This place where we find peace and solitude during the global crisis.
This home in Colonia San Antonio, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.
Flowers speak for themselves. They don’t need words to make themselves more beautiful. Unless the words are contained in a song.
Flowers and songs work well togther.
And no song is better than Van Morrison’s “In the Garden.”Continue reading
You can’t call it a back yard. When I think of a back yard, I think of a decent swath of green grass — enough for a few kids to at least play catch or toss a football — and maybe a garden.
No, it has none of that. But it is quite beautiful. If you were to look for a retreat, a place to hang out for a day and just sit and think, this would suit you well.
Not quite a back yard but bigger than a typical patio. Not a piazza, but maybe a courtyard (If you don’t immediately think of a Motel 6 courtyard). A courtyard that feels like an atrium. That will do. Continue reading