After a change of plans last Friday, I stopped as the clock ticked and settled. For a moment, things caught up with me and dissipated, to be met by the drive back home for rest. Saturday provided that opportunity, before joining the path back to city visits and consults. A moment spared for recuperation until another travel-driven week.
The candle seemed to burn a little brighter and faster than the copious caffeine cringe, summoning sleep despite ill attention. The alarm clock woke Sunday early, and it was back off again. Native foods filled market stalls and hopes of cultural healing, as the mind and heart craved connection through truth telling. The burden of time took a ticket, as the demand to move on feels greater than the woes of the past.
Yet this too was awoken back at home, blessed by foreign roses and entrenched thinking. Here, the Worimi collective roams patiently across the fields. Etched deeply in the soil it amasses strongly for purposes, seeking openings to find relevance today. Yet in spite of the hard times, it remains an undercurrent, void of any ego or panic. It knows it’s there, it knows its place better than us.
The garden thrives in this discomfort, with the occasional watering well received.
And a split of the native bee hive to make a second hopefully is yet another mark of patience within the landscape.
It was also back to the wool sales, where prices were complimentary despite the surrounds. Slowly my wool picking ability is getting better, with a quick run through the shed providing an opportunity to test against the market. Again another chance to show Nan’s dedication, despite the minds of others.
This week has got me thinking about actions- the improvements I need and what needs better dedication. All a meeting of the mind with time.