State of the Garden
Chamomile and lavender blossoms for tea

Chamomile and lavender blossoms for tea

I woke completely refreshed this morning, even though it was a very long work week, I taught two classes yesterday, I have lots to do today, and it promises to be a stressful work week coming. The sense of well-restedness is thanks to the six (or was it seven) hours of nurture I gave myself at the end of the day yesterday.
First I walked to a late afternoon appointment with my wonderful massage therapist, Patrick McClintock. My walk to see Patrick is a beautiful walk 14-block walk through Capitol Hill. I strolled home afterwards, stopping at the grocery store to pick up soy milk and a couple of other items I like to have in the house (no more than I could carry easily), then walking through Lincoln Park on my way home. Taking my time on my walk, I visited with a few dogs and neighbors who were out.
For dinner, I made a stir-fry of tempeh and radish greens (greens and herbs came right out of the garden).
After dinner, I read for a bit. Then I gave myself a mini-facial and pedicure. At twilight, I sat out back with an herbal infusion made from mint and lemon balm from the garden and watched the moon rise — it was a glorious moon.
I followed this simple, extravaganza with a long practice of restoratives, supine poses, and forward bends, and took my savasana into bed for the night.
Maybe you cannot fit in this much, and I do not do this much R&R in a single block every week — some Saturdays I want to go out on the town. Try to make part of some of your weekends (especially critical if you, like I, work six days a week, not five) restful without having to go away — perhaps including one of the Serenity Saturday workshops at Capitol Hill Yoga when you can.
Mildly disappointed that there wasn’t really any snow, but happy there also wasn’t any ice that stuck.

The space between the spheres thins and the wind creates passageways.
The spirits are outraged; how could they be otherwise? Their dance tramples
And blows things down, but still cannot help but create beauty.
The leaves–green, red, gold, brown from the drought, that distant memory–
Hang listlessly with the weight of rain and a bit of slush
Hardly even dancing in the wind, but still becoming perhaps
More extravagantly lovely by the storm’s grey light.