Light can come from all angles, but inevitably more often from above. It is so humbling to think how far it has travelled as sunlight to reach my small patio and illuminate the weeds there. How can it have gone to so much effort for me to then proclaim them ugly? Anything with the greening life force in it is beautiful. Lit up, even more so.
text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017
How the silver and gold thread through the greening shield, leaf by shining leaf. Willowed weary warp and weft, travelling light, pooling in eddies of brilliant subversion, where the Lod’s glory is cried out and so obvious, it is a wonder these photons are not arrested on the spot. But then, the truth, out in the open, so daring, always was the hardest thing to see, and the easiest to crucify.
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017
First light is soft and cool across the glade, and the long grass lying like hair shimmers with its dappling of dewdrops. I am sitting cross-legged and damp, but in the corner of my sight you appear, as if purposed, a doe in the dawn, discerning my presence and deciding it is safe for us to watch one another. The wind rustles across the greening, like breath across a harmonica, and the susurration hums in my Spirit. I close my eyes.
At the end of the day I stand, still as a watching stag on the rise, antlers aglow, the golden day-death painting one side of my motionless calm. I look to the last rays, bathed in your light, slightly lift my head to smell the sky burnt with colour. What a long way we have come, from one side of the horizon to the other, and always the lush grass with us. I close my eyes.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015
Today is a greening day. A day for sitting back and watching the fullness arrive. A day for the beginning of ripeness, when the sap sings as it travels, and the roar of fruit coming can be heard. A day for things to take shape right to their very edges, and for smoothness of round apple bellies to groan in satisfied stretching.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015