Sunday Letter: Doorways
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Threshold You want a door you can be on both sides of at once. You want to be on both sides of here and there, now and then, together and—(what did we call the life we would wish back? The old life? The before?) alone. But any open space may be a threshold, an arch of entering and leaving. Crossing a field, wading through nothing but timothy grass, imagine yourself passing from and into. Passing through doorway after doorway after doorway. ~ Maggie Smith Walking our new neighborhood each evening is a window into worlds. The doors separating us also invite us to learn a little about the people on the other side. Every adornment telling a story through simple wreaths, garlands of marigolds, and colors of red, green, and brown. Each door, a journey in and out. What story does your doorway tell? Be well, Kathy |
Kathy Donchak
I write about nature, family, creativity, and wellbeing.
A garden is a space I have always carved out for myself, from the smallest balcony to the potted flowers by my door. Every one reflects the season of my life. An expression of self in a constantly changing landscape. Looking out into our small backyard, I look at the native serviceberry trees I bought from a local landscaper who saved them. Their form is delicate and rhythmic, standing in their small pots like a lanky teenager learning to balance and move with their fresh growth. This week I...
Source One must work with the creative powers - for not to work with is to work against; in art as in spiritual life there is no neutral place.” ~ Mary Oliver, Blue Pastures Our garden is taking shape. Inspired by one of my favorite gardening books by Rebcca Cole, I am dreaming and choosing plants to create a small garden of evergreens and deciduous trees, espalier fruit trees, and flowers. My husband is working through plans for raised vegetable and herb beds to feed the body while I work to...
And here I build my platform, and live upon it, and think my thoughts and am high. To rise, I must have a field to rise from. To deepen, I must have a bedrock from which to descend. ~ Mary Oliver, Long Life I can hear the birds again. The rainy mornings have been flooded with sounds of so many frogs, you are sure you left a window open, but today, thanks to the early morning urging of our cat at the window, I began to hear them again. The geese honking overhead, woodland songbirds, even an...