Pause

Yesterday I took advantage of the sunshine and warm weather and headed out to the New York Botanical Garden again--I know I went a few weeks ago, but being surrounded by nature just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, it was the very last day to witness the orchid show for the year. How could I pass that up?

Interestingly enough, I was not as captivated by the orchids as I was by the tranquil rock garden that is tucked behind a hill. On my way up the hill, I was greeted by a friendly rabbit munching on the bright green grasses. He stayed close to the safety of a large bush, but seemed content with my presence. I entered the rock garden, giving a last glance back at the rabbit, found a bench and started to think.

I'm not sure what was more awe inspiring: the rabbit grazing on the sun warmed grass, or the perfectly hued, white and black flecked bluejay that flew by and perched in a young sapling. Perhaps it was the chipmunks playing and scuttling through the low branches of the pines. Right now a bird I cannot see is grappling with a twig or insect. I hear the digging, the pursuit. Nearby a waterfall is cascading down, down, down--a never ending trickle through the algae laden rocks. The water looks purple with tree pollens coursing through it. The pond is undulating with quiet ripples as the sun tickles it. Soon it will be breeding mosquitos and tadpoles. The colors of another bluejay pop against the buds of the trees; it will be much easier for him to hide among the leaves in a few weeks. 

A day like today begs you to appreciate the breeze. Before long it will be too hot to notice the coolness, the freshness of the Earth's breath. I love it when the wind moves the part in my hair as if it were bringing me back to a more natural state of being and putting the strands back only prompts the wind to rearrange them again. 

There is nothing like the crunch of soles against pebbles. It's a sound that you would know anywhere. For me there is comfort in the sound and in the massage the pebbles give my tired feet. 

Everyone moves around as if life is one instagram photo opportunity after another. Why don't they pause? Listen, look, put down your phone. How can you think?

It is puzzling to me that more women than men are walking around with gigantic smiles on their faces, fascinated and excited by all of the life that has started to reawaken in the garden. They pull men around with them, asking them what they like, what they find beautiful. I overheard one woman say, "You're just walking through here as quickly as you can. Did you even see these?!" However, I've also noted that more men than women are actually working in the gardens. How does that work?

So many bird calls. So many answers. I love the fleeting shadows the birds make as they fly by. Yet another bluejay is preening in the sun, reflected in the water, then scared off by the red breasted robin. The robin makes me sure, without a grain of doubt, that spring is here to stay. Even the budding trees and bursting daffodils don't fill me with the same conviction as the sight of all the robins. 

I never grow tired of having birds land near me. My stomach clenches in anticipation. I hold my breath. I try so hard to keep the bird close by ignoring all the functions my body needs to live. It's worth it for another moment close to these fragile, singing creatures. I think that's why everyone loves stories like Dr. Doolittle; to be able to get close to and understand animals is such a joy to even think about. 

The air just smells so. . .pure. 

It's becoming clear to me why people who write (and write well) need the silence, beauty and truth of the earth to make sense of language. I can never think like this when I am cooped up in my apartment, glancing out the window in an attempt to feel the wink of the sun. I am on a bench in a rock garden, and my heart and eyes (and pen) are in love. 

I think I need more trips to gardens, don't you think? Hopefully more outings will lead to more musings for you to enjoy.

Missing the Ocean

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to live near the Ocean. My love affair with the Atlantic Ocean began at a very young age. I was constantly and consistently brought to the beach, and even had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time at a family home (Creek House) that was just minutes from the open waves of the Long Island Sound. We'd go down the channel of the creek in canoes, and take the motorboat out into a sandbar dotted with small islands. Those islands were like little utopias in my imagination. We'd bring a delicious cooler filled with fresh made donuts and other goodies that my grandmother would prepare for us. My uncles, the captains of the boat, would let all of us roam the islands doing our own thing; I'd always bring a baggy to fill up with unique ocean specimens: sea glass, shells, crab legs and shells, dried bits of seaweed . . . anything I could get my hands on. Of course my mother would have to dump most of it out due to the stink of the sea, but I felt like such a pioneer rescuing all of these mementos from the Ocean. My childhood had many moments of feet crusted over with sand, curls sticky with salt, and sunburns that lead to tears and spray on solarcaine. The nights that I got the best sleep started with the slow rocking motion of the sea sweeping my body from wakefulness to dreams. How does the body remember the rock of the waves when you close your eyes? I still put my mind near the Ocean when I need to sleep. I count waves instead of sheep. Honestly, I think my innocent and youthful prayers all, in one way or another, involved my becoming a Mermaid. 

Even now I long for the sea. The endless gray and brown of the city really starts to drag me down, especially at this time of year when we haven't had sunshine and warmth and vegetation in so long. I need yellow, blue, and green! For those of you who don't know me, I live in Brooklyn, New York and I am from South Eastern Connecticut. When it's been too long since I've heard the soothing lap of water as it meets the shore, I start to feel antsy. I feel it in my bones. I feel it as I close my eyes on my subway commute. I feel it while I look out the window and see more white, gray, and blah. I feel uncomfortable and as if something were terrible amiss in my life. What I wouldn't give to push my toes into the cool of sand and water. That lovely strip of sand that has recently been coated in sea water and soaks up an imprint of your toes as you pick them up and take another step. Something about the Ocean restores my soul when it's weary. 

For my birthday, my husband and I made a trip down to Bermuda. The color of the water there inspires me. The smell of the hotel room, being so close to the sea, makes my heart smile just to think of it! It's musty and salty and might be mistaken for something old and dank, but I know better. When we got there, got checked in and dropped all of our luggage into the room, I bolted straight down to the water. It was cold, but that didn't matter. I was overcome with so many emotions, so much release to let go into the dip and tug of the waves. I am trying so hard to pull that feeling into myself now, to reconnect with the Ocean thru memory--it's just not the same, I need to be there, toes in, shivering and letting go.

I'm not really sure how I became so close with the sea. I get the sense that a lot of people crave the relaxation and comfort that comes from a trip to the beach. For me it almost feels essential sometimes. Maybe someday I'll be able to pack up my city apartment and head for the coast-line. I know the hardest part will be convincing my sun-hating husband that it's a great, nay necessary move. He'd stay locked up in a cloudy day every day if he could. At any rate, I think a trip to the Ocean is in my cards for this weekend and I hope it is every bit as cathartic and cleansing as I remember it to be.