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Fern and stream

I stand with my feet hip-width a part, my right hand shields the sun from my eyes as I look up, the cool air settles on my check. I survey the beautiful multi-colored mountain before me. The size and lumpy shape are not lost on me. I take in the lay of the land from the soft flannel moss at my feet to the coarse denim of the boulders on the mountain side. I imagine how the green grass feels as I run my fingers through the pleasant prickles; much like a pilley sweater would feel. I blow my hair back from my face. I reach up to make sure my hair is secure. I make sure my gear is accounted for: water – check, snack – check, coffee – check. All the important things are by my side. I take a deep breath.

I begin the ascent. I pass by a babbling brook. The blue like you have never witnessed. A blue you could fall into, so I pick it up and fold it into a clean rectangle. I continue to climb. Next I come to a clearing full of green grass and tiny delicate white flowers. They are everywhere, these petite beauties. They complement the green in such a way it is as if the night sky fell and magically mirrored its beauty on the ground. Then the stars grew legs and planted themselves into the soft emerald colored earth. They twinkle on their stems. I stretch out my arms, I reach for the corners, and I fold it all up. The shape is uneven but soft. My journey continues.

I travel deeper up the incline. The trees are tall the ground uneven. I stop to lean against a tree to catch my breath. I look up and stretch my neck back and back further still to see this tree. It soars into the heavens. I spread my arms up and up. I take the bark in my hands and I fold it into a smooth wadded mass. I undo it, stretch it out, and fold it into a pleasing square. Yes, I like the firm lines I can make with my hands.

Before long, I reach the summit. The view is so glorious. I lay my weary bones on the rocks, kick off my shoes, take off my socks, splay my toes in the sun, and with a contented sigh, I lean my head back in the bowl my hands. I see cloud upon fluffy cloud. They move and sift in and out of shapes before my eyes. I see bunny tails, fat happy snakes, and quilted pillows dance across the baby boy blanket blue of the sky. I reach up with my hands and fold them to my chest. When I look down, I see my arms are full of socks.

I place my hands on the laundry, which has now been leveled, is neat, and folded in clean firm lines. I am nearly done. Next, I must conquer a swamp. What a busy day this is turning into…

Posted previously at: http://www.holdingwomanspace.com/2013/05/everyday-sacred/

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