Orange

It glows orange.

Life does around here.

Every morning and every evening.

Something in the way this land catches the sun. Something in the way this house is made of reflective, refractive wood. There are grains of old matai in this house - carved out loving by Steve that are holographic in their light holding. The eye of the wood meets my eyes and we behold each other.

This land, this home, this place - is for beholding - not looking. It is a seeing with the whole self - felt presence, ancient sensing as well as a wonderment with the meeting of eye and world.

I come across it almost every morning as I sit beholding the orange glow of the wood chip path, the red corrugated iron of the composting loo and the macrocapa garden shed - then the green of the garden dances within this wooden glow - she sheens - green leaves and wet with rain - white flowers lasting so ever long on stem.

Even as the rain falls heavily - the light persists - deepens and stirs a depth to this primordial beauty. There are no reasons I should be here - I cannot think how this all lined up - that I deserve it and so on..

I am here - I am listening - I am beholding. This is what this phase of my life calls for - this is what I gladly give it - I am being used again as a conduit for beauty. And thank you, I love you, I love you.