Heaven is spread upon the earth

Good Morning my Friends and Neighbors, 

Hello! I can't tell you how happy it makes me to sit in this heavenly spot on earth and write. Even better, I am running simple irrigation in the garden this morning, the writing is pulsed with walking out barefoot into the overgrown grass, that particular green that grass turns in September, and I marvel at the lushness of the carrot tops as I set up the soaker hose. 

The red berries on the tips of the asparagus fronds shine while the tiny rouged winter rye shoots sparkle shyly from under the loose straw I strew on top of the bed last week to give them a microclimate of moisture and coziness as they germinate. The hairy vetch won't be far behind, though it's glossy black sphere of a seed takes a bit longer to sprout. 

These plants give us something you know? Something so much more than simply food for the body. Every time I walk past the garden I am quietly filled - ah, look at the broccoli crowns starting to peek out from the whorl of green leaves. And there, WOW, another round of cucumbers. I kid you not, I planted 2 obligatory cucumbers in June, obligatory because well, social expectations and all. It turns out that those two plants LOVE it here, and there is a loose (and ongoing) count of 95 cucumbers produced to date. That's pure craziness. It's a good thing I like tzatziki. 

I come in to write, the well pump cycling on as the carrots and celery get their long drink of well water,  and the grey blue haze of the hills of Groton distant beyond multiple valleys draw my heart to silence.

Beauty and distance remind us of what we are. The thing in me that feels the distance? That's the vastness of me. And you. When you look out at the ocean, or the night sky and feel the expanse, that's you. You are that expanse. It's that incredible??

Only the equivalent expanse in you can perceive the vastness of a mountain range. Only the equal well of beauty in you can be overcome by the beauty of the mist rising though the valley in the early morning. 

The joy of a dark purple salvia, sleeping bumblebees nestled into its spires at dawn, that is YOU.  You plumb the depths of your soul when you take in the world.

I do not mean to preach, I am in service to what my name portends, and write to bring the good word to flesh. It frightens me to say this, and as I sat out under the hazelnut boughs, swaying with the weight of swelling husks, I asked if I may dare to write this. The leaves rustled in the wind, telling me that they live in the truth of silence, but they cannot say it in the words that we humans use, but I can. 

I walked out and switched the soaker hose to the beets and cabbage, their bodies enormous in joyous expression, listening to the hum of fall crickets spangled low in the substrata of the day, the slow turn of the season etched in their song. 

'Heaven is spread upon the Earth, but men do not see it.' Perhaps that is changing. Perhaps the heaven that we ARE can begin to see it now. 

Sincerely, Evangeline

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