Where to begin…

I don’t like to look at a space when I’m meant to be thinking in or about it, it’s too distracting, the space begs you to day dream or wander off to other pressing matters. So I always close my eyes and listen. I try and hear the space and all of the little sounds, turning off each sound one by one in my head to try and hear the softer notes hidden below.

Soft raindrops falling from leaf to leaf to finally take the plunge to the earth.

Gentle lapping of the lake at the shore line, not strong enough to move a pebble.

Choirs of bugs all singing in an elevated harmony of white noise.

Sharp cracks and scuffs of people walking by.

I sat and stared into obsidian, let myself be consumed by the natural and man-made world around me and embrace it with open arms for my space have given me the chance to live it’s change, not simply watch it. Once you can hear a space for everything in it you can open up your other senses. That cold stone bench beneath me became a dais with which I could envision where every drop of water came and was going but most importantly where they were at this very moment. This moment was special, because it would never happen again; it was a one-time event, which existed in a just a few short minutes. Leaves of green and brown on the ground, Virginia red dirt peaking though tufts of grass and plant litter, two tall oaks transplanted from their original homes to here, an obsidian lake which shone as still as glass but reflected the energy and movement of everything around it. While the moment may be over and remembered with a lover’s longing I can’t help but know that when I return again the space will open up and share a new moment, at a new point in time, having grown with us all, and tell me more. And for that, I am grateful.