While I look out my window, I remember a few moments ago before class started, I sipped my green tea and brought a mug full of color sharpies to my to be my writing bouquet on the table. During today's class, a glimmer caught my eye and threw the pale lace that offers a modicum of privacy to my office. I saw an emerald-throated hummingbird dipping into the bright orange blossoms of the shrub whose name I do not know that was planted by the neighbor. It has taken over this space.
This plant provides a refreshing screen as we no longer have a fence between us. I come from the sprawling suburbs of Bethesda, were huge yards created all the social distancing needed of the day with their expenses of grass, borders of pink and red inpatients. Here in Santa Cruz where everyone is on top of each other. We have redwood, white, picket, rusted iron and hedges that would defy the middle ages in terms of barriers made of briars.
My neighbor was open to creating a virtual fence once the old fence had fallen over for the update time, rotted with termites and mold, but it took a while for the shrubs to grow in, to feel unexposed, to have good boundary. I see blue sky, a clean roof, healthy plants, a house with white and blue trim. I noticed what dangles in my window. The healing Hamsa hand from Charlie, cobalt blue bottles with crow, hawk, bluejay feathers popping out. rose quartz and purple fluorite, a bottle of holy water next to some sacred honey.
The cobalt bottles are from my parents, a fish and ink bottle, the head of George Washington, a cluster of grapes. There’s also a vial of kosher salt and a glass carving of an iris for my trip to Sweden with my mom ten years ago. My writer's talisman which I made in Lisa's class two years ago. Sage green curtains. All the elements, cozy and complete.
