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What does nature want for you?

A different kind of blog today.  Some pictures taken on a roadtrip inland, back from Sydney.  I had been visiting my Mum in a nursing home, her Dementia rapidly advancing.  Such special and emotional time, in a relationship that had been, well, frankly, fraught.

The trip took forever, but the landscape had something for me.

 

Miles in to miles.

 

Me and the road and the boulders.

It was an aching drive and an opening drive.

A stupidly long and boring drive.

 

More and more distance between Mum and I, yet how big she is in my heart along the lines of rust metal fences, broken down road and yellow wild flowers.

 

Slowing for each small town, a pub or a church, and letting the big country get inside, open the walls, let the breath get big. Surreal. Crazy tired. Slightly dissociated.

 

White flowers now, like fields of snow under the parched sun.

 

Past Armidale with memories of stories from Dad and his travels and onward north, to the boulders that split my heart, big from the ground, pouring the love from me and meeting it strong. Safe. Pink glow, late sun.

 

This country is in me. It’s here for me when nothing else is. It fills the spaces inside me and loves me.

 

Living tender

Modern life.  So much rush.  So much pace.  So much surface.

Tenderness can seem a luxury.  Something for another time or someone else or a special scene in a movie.

How much do you allow tenderness to move you if it happens?  You’ve really got to be ready for it, to notice and soften and receive it with your whole heart.  Let your heart go big with it.

How much tenderness do you show yourself – your tired feet, your thirst, the crick in your neck, the ache in your heart?

Practice being tender with someone near and dear.  Do it consciously.  Step outside of a pattern of logistics or being right and offer up some seeing and some tender.  Notice what happens.

Big things grow from tender places.  The way we care for tender parts determines what grows.  Get the coding right in the small whisper of hope or yearning or hurt or longing.  Listen in.  Offer a little of what’s needed.  Watch beauty grow in your life.

Living tender

So much in so little.

Transparent.

Amber heartbeat.

It’s lived through so much, been worn and washed and tossed up here and there.

Deep down below the currents, in the cold, dark, wet place, aonic whisper of something more, of warmth, of glow, of being heated through with a love that doesn’t go anywhere and cannot be escaped.

Transparent,

Pretence washed.

Trying washed.

Even hopes and dreams washed.

Transparent, but far from brittle.

Transparent, amping the sunlight through curls that see because they know; that touch gently in to tend the hurt, touch the untouchable, with such delicately filtered love.

Tiny part of the whole of the sun.  So needed right here and right now.

Extended, reaching out from the anonymity of the dark stem.

So far out.

And so beautiful in that fragile reach, at once so tender and time-worn.  Reaching into places barely there but yearning to be seen and held and fuse with the golden burn of the orb.

Burning on.  Burning through.

Flying hammocks; lifted, lighted by a breeze.  Strong in their place, in their part of it all.

by Deborah Jackson