The Untrimmable Light of the World

Spring is busy going through her wardrobe, pulling garments out of the cedar-lined closets built by a bored neophyte godling who was a carpenter in another life. She looks at each piece and laughs or sighs, delighted and wooed by the richness of texture and color. 

"So much green. There is so much green," she says. "I love every bit of it!"

She tosses a light shawl on the branches of a tall oak tree, then drapes a dress across the top of a willow. Another for the elderberry and the roses. This ecstasy of viridity goes on through multiple turnings of the earth, and in between exploring shades of green, she rummages through drawers full of color. A patterned yellow, orange, and white scarf flutters over the top of the daffodil greens, and a pair of purple gloves call the creeping phlox into being. 

She pauses over her ancient jewelry box, running her fingers over the carvings. It is worn with age, and she reads the runes by touch rather than by sight. The godling peeks over her shoulder as she lifts the lid and nearly swoons himself right out of his feigned boredom. Such richness of color and power that so quickly now become hyacinth, crocus, snowdrop, and speedwell; the fresh green of buds on sweet cherry, the earthy tones that color the eggs of every creature that lays. The red gemstones on the wings of the red-winged blackbirds, sapphire jays, carnelian cardinals, and tawny gold Carolina wren. 

This is the tale of springtime's spiraling arrival at Bear Path Cottage, as seen through the eyes of the resident witch. 56 years ago, I came into this world with this garden in my heart, and the runners have been spreading and bulbs have been multiplying for all this time. With every growing season I spend with this land, the richness of the garden increases. This is what I was born for. 

My days are filled with reminders of patience and sudden blooms of joy. Reading the words of kindred spirits like Mary Oliver is part of that joy and also part of the root system that inhabits my being.  

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these —

the untrimmable light

of the world,

This is one of the rewards of being mindful, slowing down, and looking and listening. For seeing the untrimmable light of the world. I am part of a world filled with magic and wonder, and for that, I am grateful.

Peace. 

Mindful by Mary Oliver
Everyday

I see or hear
something
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for —
to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world —
to instruct myself
over and over

in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant —
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these —
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?