Sitting in Martha’s Garden

When I can’t hold any more tension, when the Vyvanse can’t kick me into a better mindset, when I can’t see through the wet in my eyes and nothing seems worth doing, I come to Martha’s Garden.

I sit under the old tree, rock in the mint green iron chair, and let the breeze and the birdsong waft over me. The neighbors’ rooster and dogs talk to each other. A garbage truck grumbles by on the road.

I give all the distorted thoughts and twisted feelings the room they need with my bare feet flat in the mulch and my eyes soft on all the green.

I take a deep breath and start to journal.

I will let the Garden soothe me, bleed the ichor, untangle the thoughts, and send me on my way.

To the special order waiting for me to finish (a set of cards for The Wheel of the Year), a set of my own Divination cards, a new journal to play in from my art journal Round Robin group, and the little art journals I made out of cup sleeves from my favorite coffee shop.

I will set up Emmett’s new litter box after finally realizing he can’t squat low enough to keep his stream from flowing over the side. Oh, the stories I created about being negligent and asleep! The guilt, and shame, and memories of other cats neglected!

All of that seeps into the Garden’s waiting dirt. There is only Now and what needs doing in this moment. There is only the clouded blue sky framed by leaves and branches.

I sip my iced coffee and return to my journal. The Garden will dismiss me when she’s done.

30 Days of Sandy Sue Altered: 6

Comfort

⊂ ⊃

Tears are the Telescope

⊂ ⊃

Night Will Pass-Soldier

⊂ ⊃

Hold on to Yourself

⊂ ⊃

Friends for Life

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