Petals on the Soles of my Feet

I didn't feel well today. I haven't felt myself in a couple of weeks, actually, and I was feeling quite down about it this evening. My dear one advised me to just lie down and listen to some soothing music. I didn't want to lie down--I wanted to get things done...but I did it anyhow. It was good. I switched to hypnotic meditation music, and, revived, I worked trancelike on a painting until bedtime (it's bedtime now, lol).

I feel as if I've experienced the most exquisite massage. I'm flying and floating, gently swaying, and it's lovely, lovely, and I am blessed.

So now I'm looking back on my day in which I didn't feel well, and I'm questioning my feeling that I never quite get enough done. What did I do today, while feeling weak and slow?

I worked a full day, for starters. I came home from work and went straight to the nursery to look at bushes and trees, making note of varieties I may want to plant in a large bed we're filling out back. I came home from the nursery and went outside with the dog. It was lovely. The sun had come out after a full day of clouds, and it was warm! I got out my seeds and planted pumpkins, gourds, sunflowers, dill, green beans, purple beans and summer squash. I weeded a flower bed. I thinned my carrots. I played with my dog. I ate dinner, answered emails, had a conversation with my dear one, meditated, worked on my painting, then photographed its progress and blogged it.

Not bad for not feeling well. I'm really very blessed...and grateful for the reminder to be mindful of what I'm doing. I very nearly wrote this off as a not-very-useful day.

So where do the flower petals come in? I let the dog out before coming to bed. The night is dark, slightly warm, slightly humid, full of the scent of growing things. The frogs are in full voice, from the treble drone of tree frogs to the bullfrogs' percussive bass. The darkness is alive, and I am alive in it. My crabapple tree, at the very end of her abundant bloom, spreads her branches over me as I breathe in the night. Petals flutter past my face, a perfect imitation of the first snowfall. I can hear them hushing, hushing to the ground. My heart is open wide and I am everything...and all of it is me. As I come back into the house, I leave a trail of crabapple petals on the floor. I'll leave them 'til morning--and begin the day in this same magical space.

My prayer is gratitude.