I am becoming ever more aware that my morning walk is an extension of my centering prayer that immediately precedes it. It seems to open me particularly to seeing Beauty in the most ordinary things. I seem to notice something new every day. On a damp morning like today the spicy scent of the purple crown vetch is pleasant. After a heavy rain the night before just the slightest breeze makes it sound like its raining hard in the woods I walk through. When I walk in a fine mist of rain I find myself remembering how, as children, we put on our bathing suits and ran around in the rain.
The bergamot is beginning to bloom in the swampy area near the little stream that runs under the road. It's brilliant red blossoms stand out amid so much green. It reminds me of friends who several years ago dried its leaves and made Earl Grey tea for me. I like its nickname "Indian Paint Brush."
Queen Ann's Lace is true to its name. Everywhere there are the daisies. I noticed this morning a weed about two feet high that has pretty yellow five-petal blossoms, maybe St. John's Wort. And in the midst of the wildflowers a single hoya with two stems of pale purple blossoms has planted itself from someone's yard across the road.
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