Sparkling Lotus Ink

botanical architecture .1 artichoke

let's visit the fairy house

In mid-August my family visited the Three Sisters Healing Sanctuary out in Goshen.  It was T's first visit but J and I also went  in '16.  This time out I took 326 pictures.  Very few weren't keepers.  This suggests a strong likelihood I'll be sharing more over time.  For now let's just tiptoe quietly into the realm of the Fairy House.  It didn't exist the last time we were there and all three of us found it an absolutely charming addition.

ripening seeds

I have no idea what plant this is and haven't yet prodded myself into an organized attempt to change that.  A few years back I came upon an arresting group of them while day-tripping at The Fells.   For a minute or so I didn't even register my hands moving automatically to ready my camera for a number of shots similar to this one.  Was utterly gobsmacked by the glowing Indigo color of the seeds.

Autumn gardening season is in full swing.  On this end there's a lot to do and yet the overall landscape spirits are asking for privacy.  This seems to happen a lot within space that's intentionally co-creative in nature.   So of course there are occasions when the request feels like an inconvenience (or perhaps even the wrong call) by human standards.   To move myself through those cycles as quickly and peacefully as possible I envision how nourishing it must be for the landscape to dial all the way into itself without distraction or interruption.  To listen - as a congregation of sentience,  to the sound of seeds large and small dropping absolutely everywhere.

I feel like this happens in human consciousness as well.  Here we are - moving into the slow rhythms to follow a season of irrepressible growth.   Something moving that fast cannot sustain its pace indefinitely.  Summer's a lot like a cheetah in that respect.  Autumn, by comparison, seems quite low-gear and self-sufficient.  But it's a time of great activity all the same.  Particularly for seeds who need to get where they're going in time to settle in for the season of dormancy to come.

What grows in your own internalized autumn garden?  Is it offering you seeds for scattering in your dream and waking landscapes?  Where in your life can you find a place to sow a modest pot's worth of space with those seeds?  Can you imagine yourself being patient for the types of seeds that are organically slower to germinate than others? What additional real life metaphors for seeds can you broadcast joyfully, and where?