The last trees are popping tiny leaves, the lilac buds are swelling purple, and the wild hawthorn is in full bloom. The warmth of the sun on skin, the sound of water rushing in a high creek, the twitter of birds who can’t help but sing - all of this I want to inhale deeply, fully aware of the life and energy that it exudes.
Recent days have required full concentration - head down and go. I’m thankful for those kinds of days; those kinds of weeks, because it means good work and progress and accomplishment. But also important and oh-so-appreciated are the days when the pace slows, the eyes linger over the landscape, and the exhale comes. A rest station, if you will, necessary at intervals in order to keep the pace.
So on an ordinary Tuesday, here I am, at a rest station, not a place where I’m lounging in the shade with a book, mind you, but a different pace and kind of work for a day (and how fun that it includes this post for you!)
After the cup of tea this morning, I couldn’t think of a better way to begin the day than gathering some of that sweetly-scented hawthorn for the dining table. The house is fairly spilling over with blooms and plants right now, so a few more just feels right. And, upon recently deciding that spring in my mind should smell like wild hawthorn, well then, I had no other choice.
Near the creek I found some, in a hollow where the water flows in a wide arcing bend, where the entire place smells like blossoms. I clipped just two branches this time, knowing how I tend to get carried away. Ahem.
Two simple branches in a vase of water, foraging in simpest of terms.
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