weeds

weeds

Every Tuesday of Summer, I work down at the Wildflower Habitat Project. I am motivated by a 360 panoramic view of the sky where the sunset rises to its crescendo. It is the best IMAX around, if like me, you savor lighting.

Nothing satisfies my pallet more than the play of lighting on the mountains and the robust colors of dusk. I take a little break from toiling to salute the sun and then try to beat the bugs home.

Tonight, the sky, pressing out wrinkles as highlighted colors ripple, ringlet upon ringlet, into the horizon. The hot, moist air evaporating the creases of my consciousness.

The sky invites me to linger in the moment and observe the messages my intentions sketch out in the clouds. Icons, symbols and shapes merge and move into clearer revelations of my mind’s meandering.

Sunset is the time for daydreaming and kicking back with contentment. Leaning against the pile of weeds I harvested, I feel a deep connection with the earth and sky. The Native garden boasting the cycle of seasons with plants in varying stages. Colorado wildflowers peak in July, but have a second round of yellow in early fall. I sit on a hillside in anticipation of what is yet to come.

Certainly there is an art to being still in a state of appreciation. The awe of life envelopes me as I watch in wide eyed wonder at how cleverly the sky moves back into the ebb of darkness. The void beckons me to explore a deeper darkness. Layers of my own history made visible by a shift in my fault line. Points of illumination, like stars, dot the dome of my consciousness. Venus takes my hand guiding me into the Divine Darkness of the soul.