snowing in trees
My boys are sick. All three of them. One husband, one son, one dog. Winter colds. We blame it on the mall. (Yes, we really did go to a mall!)
I cannot be too. Someone must care for them. You know how it is.
Caring, nurturing, giving. Is this not our nature? An integral part of our selves as strong and healing and natural as the river that runs down the face of the mountain, feeding the hills and valleys?
As women, perhaps our greatest strength is found not in bulk and brawn but in that quiet caring. The gentle brook that meanders through the shade of the tall trees. Quiet force of healing.
How much of ourselves do we have to give? The spring does not go dry, though in times of drought perhaps is reduced down to a trickle and may not feed its full course. The rains come. The source replenished. And we have more to give again.
We bequeath a part of ourselves to our children (two and four legged), our partners, our careers, our land and animals, our passions and art and writing, nature and gardening… A part of our selves is lost, and a new part is found in the feeding of our souls that giving allows. Nurture the soil and seeds grow fruit.
For each we pour forth of ourselves, our bleeding enriches, nourishes us, our land and families and dreams, fulfills us, completes us. And thus we grow like the seeds we tend.