I open my front door to get the morning paper and the world is there suddenly stunning me with gratitude, Warm tropical waters lap between my toes Ice drips off the twigs of a gnarled apple tree And across the street, the rusty textured door of a cobalt blue home in Santa Fe glows. But wait, do I live in Santa Fe?

A junkyard, a yard sale, the flea market to end-all-flea-markets, an auction of fairy gardens and Joseph Cornell shadow boxes has appeared in my side yard. A miniature Alaskan Artic Refuge bulges and arches in my driveway, and El Prado and the Louvre stand where, last night, my neighbor's roses budded.

I need to pull on decorative socks and write my journal and make a collage but no time, for now people are spilling down my street -- with their stories and wrinkles and eyes, eyes, eyes that create a river of compassion we all flow in. Hours, days, eons pass as we look into each other's universes and smile, here and there, an unexpected wink at just the right time. We are fearless in our connections, Inspired.

It is morning and I do begin to think about tea -- jasmine tea, white tea, Yorkshire Gold tea with cream in my grandmother's teapot -- when the books arrive -- thousands and thousands flutter and flit and whiz by crooning their praises. There are fun but flawed novels (the really good ones sometimes make me NOT want to write), biographies of Georgia O'Keeffe and Eleanor Roosevelt, philosophy and spirituality and the poetry! Mary Oliver, Theodore Roethke, Pablo Neruda, Rumi, Billie Collins, Whitman... the bounty of words! Bless the words.

Swooning with language, I dig my hands into the patch of garden closest to the door, to feel myself on this earth, and the surprising scent of mint arises, I inhale a breeze drifts by carrying on it the smells of cut grass, Durga Rose incense, nutmeg, the Indian spice shop in Berkeley, the Asian supermarket in the International district, the cedars on Bear Island... Now I swoon with scent.

Now the inspirations come with the force of love: Images of New York skyscrapers, seeing a really great piece of theater, or a really bad one, Peggy's baby pictures, an early fall morning in the Appalachians, a bonfire on the beach during the winter, someone's truth heard I (even if it doesn't match mine), synchronicity, live concert, a productive work-out, the birth of precious grand babies and nieces and nephews, cats and more cats, purring as they parade by, beads (oh the colors), and being hugged with big love.

I have to lie down. My porch is cold under my robe. Quiet descends, the quiet of driving in the car without the radio......being with others in silence... eating in silence... communion in silence... The quiet morning murmurs that is it time to "listen" and get "directions" for the day, week, month ahead.

I'm gifted with a new day...I can create new perceptions, perhaps see the world like a 7-year-old whose 'worldview' reminds her to always see with enthusiastic eyes.

I go inside I leave the door open Who knows what might wander in?

  Articles Source - Free Articles
About the Author

Jennifer Louden is a best-selling author of many books, including The Woman's Comfort Book, Comfort Secrets for Busy Women, and soon-to-be released, The Life Organizer: A Woman's Guide to a Mindful Year. She's also a creativity and life coach, creator of the Inner Organizer and a columnist for Body + Soul Magazine. She leads retreats on self-care and creativity around the country. Visit her world at: http://www.comfortqueen.com an