I could argue that I am preoccupied. I could ask for pardon. I might imply that a day late is no big deal. After all, I am unsure of my readership...or if I have one at all...But I needed to take an extra day to determine what really resonated at my core. I owed us both that extra time.
There are wild strawberries growing profusely in a section of my acre of paradise in beautiful New Jersey. No, there was no sarcasm in that last sentence. I love my property and I do love New Jersey. Perhaps New Jersey love is a topic I best keep to myself, but wild strawberries...now that is a topic everyone can enjoy.
My daughter would pick the weedy clumps of circular leaves when she was younger, bringing home a red stained bowl full of tiny berries with oversized seeds and red hands. She was proud of the harvest and we ate them with joy; wild strawberries are incredibly sweet and flavorful. Yes, the seeds were a distraction, but not as much deterent as they initially appeared. I recall the taste so vividly...heaven on your tongue. It is a taste that compels one to be take note, be present.
I was mowing the lawn last Thursday, mulling words a shaman gave me. I thought I might blog about that, but it is still too new and shapeless...more like a lump of clay to analyze for the potential within. But back to mowing...with each mower pass, I noticed more and more berries; ripe, perfect, sitting among plants I refer to as weeds. I noticed the blackberry thicket covered with blossoms and the few raspberry plants we actually had atttempted had spread, relocating themselves slowly to the southwest for a better harvest.
My yard was a garden. Full of bounty. For the critters that live among the "wilds" of my acre in New Jersey. For the song birds. For the snakes. For the mice. And for me, if I make the effort, see the value in red stained hands for a small taste of heaven.
How many other moments of joy are so easily obtained? Why do we pass them up? Do the seeds look too big? Is one moment of bliss so readily available elsewhere?
My truth is that I rarely see the little delights, my eye is always on some larger prize on the horizon. Yet, there is no guarantee of any other second than now. This breath. These last ending words.
And my red stained key board as I type...
May I be blessed to find that small bliss again.
