Mentor
"You came before your time" he said quietly, opening the heavy door smiling and clutching a worn book of sutras to his heart.
I hadn't realised the earliness of the visit with racing through town and my life again,
And only a momentary check against the tiny blue clock in the window of the shop I'd bought the rose quartz from, a year ago today.
But I'd finally arrived.
Through the gateway we moved into what seemed an even bigger garden than before.
Spaciously spacious space, high-walled in old brick, budding cream hydrangea over faint-pink shrubs and cascading wisterias, heaven-scent that floated in the gentle stillness of the place
A lighted lamp in a dark corner I hadn't seen before and tiny smoking puja pots scattered here and there and all along the walkway where we had come to sit, sat mighty auburn and ochre primroses, split wood sorrel like lace and wild garlic pushed between the chamomile and sage
The sun had opened everything, just like she'd said it would, once I could let go and allow myself to really see just how things were in this place.
It was warm so I touched the marble seat before sitting and waited, relaxing and breathing the morning air.
A nesting blackbird settled among the blooms of the lilac tree
And before I realised
Our silence together had already begun.
(c) George Hollis |