Coming home, the porch light is already on,
The backyard is the temple, sacred space,
Priestess of pruning, invoking hummingbirds.
Bees and ravens, a choir of leaves whispering,
Dappled sunlight stains the grass,
The clerestory of an open cathedral,
Vision of heaven on earth is here.
Examine roots and bulbs, rose hips and passion vine,
Inviting teachers: cats, beetles, spiders and snakes,
To teach their ways of quiet contentment,
Kneel in the dirt, grit under praying hands.
Pulling out negative thoughts, planting seeds of change,
Finding wisdom in watering, irrigating the soul,
The deep peace of sweeping the deck yet again,
Paying attention to the dusky hues, rising moon.
Planting the future now by enjoying the present moment,
Breathing in the jasmine, both alone and all-one,
Here, grateful for being the creatrix,
Open to the mysteries as the night unfurls.
Moving back inside to simply make soup,
Supping on a blessed life, I break my own bread.
(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)
