The seed has no idea of being some particular plant, but it has its own form and is in perfect harmony with the ground, with its surroundings ... and there is no trouble. This is what we mean by "naturalness".Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind
Fruitful: the word comes to us from Middle English and Old French, thence from the Latin noun fructus meaning "enjoyment" and the past participle frui, meaning "to enjoy". Out of such fertile ground arises the adjective fruitful meaning (if we construe it according to its roots) enjoyable or joyous, not simply prolific or committed to proliferating our heady genetic brew.
Springtime beckons, and we northerners are surfacing from somewhere deep underground now, as pale and wan of countenance as new leaves, catkins and shoots and just as hopeful too. After a long winter spent almost entirely within, curled up by the hearth, sleeping deeply and dreaming of sunshine, we lift our heads and look up. We stretch our arms toward the strengthening sun, and we consider madcap dancing, whirling like dervishes in wild awakening places.
It is axiomatic that one has to grow and bloom wherever she is planted, and that for the most part, she does not choose the place or medium of her growing and (hopefully) blooming: water, stone, potting soil, sphegnum moss, a remote and fertile fen??? Here we are, and this is where whatever-it-is is going to happen. In all probability, there are still a few cold and snowy days to come, but we are on our way at last. In the fruitful darkness of winter, we held our roots deep in the fertile soil of our thoughts and our native place. Now comes our time of emergence, our greening and flowering and somewhere up the trail (hopefully), the bearing of a still unknown fruit.
Yesterday, house finches started to construct a nest in the wreath on the front door of the little blue house in the village, and it was the cheeriest, most hopeful thing we have witnessed in some time. May there be greening, growth, happy blooming and fruiting ahead for all of us.
Springtime beckons, and we northerners are surfacing from somewhere deep underground now, as pale and wan of countenance as new leaves, catkins and shoots and just as hopeful too. After a long winter spent almost entirely within, curled up by the hearth, sleeping deeply and dreaming of sunshine, we lift our heads and look up. We stretch our arms toward the strengthening sun, and we consider madcap dancing, whirling like dervishes in wild awakening places.
It is axiomatic that one has to grow and bloom wherever she is planted, and that for the most part, she does not choose the place or medium of her growing and (hopefully) blooming: water, stone, potting soil, sphegnum moss, a remote and fertile fen??? Here we are, and this is where whatever-it-is is going to happen. In all probability, there are still a few cold and snowy days to come, but we are on our way at last. In the fruitful darkness of winter, we held our roots deep in the fertile soil of our thoughts and our native place. Now comes our time of emergence, our greening and flowering and somewhere up the trail (hopefully), the bearing of a still unknown fruit.
Yesterday, house finches started to construct a nest in the wreath on the front door of the little blue house in the village, and it was the cheeriest, most hopeful thing we have witnessed in some time. May there be greening, growth, happy blooming and fruiting ahead for all of us.
1 comment:
beautiful spring colors!
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