Sanctum

Custodian of this tiny walled morsel of a small blue planet, I stoop amongst the bees to inhale my share of the lavender's perfume, traipse my fingers through the fast fading lilac blossoms, and crush the rosemary that promises remembrance. Here is where I abandon self in random meditational tasks, where I come to Be. Here is where I bury my fears, nurture my hopes, and harvest my blessings. 

And here, for almost fifty years, I have shed a forensic trail of broken fingernails, droplets of blood and sweat, hairs of many lengths and shades, lost earrings, and a litany of curses and tears. Deep beneath the lush foliage lie the cherished bones of many feline friends, a couple of hapless hamsters, and a god among dogs who rests, forever on guard, under a mossy inscribed slab. Scattered all around lie large quartz rocks harvested from the hinterland, marble pebbles gathered on Greek beaches, sand scooped from the Sahara, a rock proudly borne from the summit of Olympus, and a wealth of shells gathered by tiny hands. All are slowly grasped and furtively consumed by the ever-living topsoils to confuse any passing geologist in the distant future.

And everywhere the rooted brethren hold their ground: gnarled and elderly apple trees, and a host of generous bearers of fruits, blossoms, and perfumes. In my time here I have raised, rooted, cajoled, nurtured, celebrated and occasionally murdered a cornucopia of welcome immigrants. Most were just passing through, some have grown old with me. All have taught me little things. 

Yet always amongst them lurk the uninvited, the tenacious interlopers, eager to resume the old ways, to mock my elitism, to challenge my fleeting dominion, to ache my back, as they endlessly conspire to re-establish the native temperate rain forest to which they eternally aspire. 

But I'm still the dirt queen around here, as once was another. For every so often, the soil will offer up an old pearl button, a chip of fine china, or yet one more bright blue glass bead from a necklace long ago snagged and scattered. 

These I add to the glass jar on the garden wall that reminds me that I and my dreams are just passing through on this beautiful morning. Over the wall, the river tumbles carelessly by, infused with the timeless essence of the hills beyond. I gift it a sprig of rosemary.