Waving

On some of my walks along the gravel of Old Victoria Road, I come upon a swath of tall grass that stretches for two hundred metres. The tips rise above me.

As the breeze blows, the assembled beings awaken and sway together to a song unknown to me. There’s a sweet flow here – each strand bending to be with its neighbour. It’s a loving togetherness, not a forced squishing. And the rhythm in front of my eyes continues way to the left and to the right. The field of grass is alive.

I wonder what they’re thinking … these towering ones. Are they happy with their lot? Do they enjoy the red-winged blackbirds who nestle within? Do they worry that they’re not bright green? (I doubt it.)

As I stand before them, it seems that all eyes are on me. Are they waiting for me to say something? Can I let go and allow words to emerge from my mouth, without care?

And what is their message to me? I need to be still, waiting amid the breeze, for wisdom to come calling.

I have friends on Old Victoria Road.

Faces

I enjoy sitting in my den, looking over to my bookcase. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve arranged things. If I sit on the left cushion of the loveseat, many eyes are aimed right at me. I hope you can enlarge the photo to see what I mean. There’s a marble sculpture of a man and woman who aren’t really looking my way, but apart from that …

In no particular order, you’re likely to find two Buddhas, two lizards, two native American women, a snowy owl, a cyclist, a Senegalese goddess of fertility, a laughing wooden face, a downcast stone face, Jody and me on our wedding day, Jody at a tiny restaurant in Quebec City, two little kids under an umbrella, an owl with wings spread wide, me at a community dinner in Belmont, my nephew Jaxon’s grad picture, a jovial black kid, the haunting image of a sad peasant girl in 1885, and the Sun.

All meeting my eyes. All saying “Hello”. There is magic on this cushion. I feel radiation coming my way. I am being included in so many lives. Across time and space, we are together.