Glasshouses

It happens quite frequently - the wonder rises. I observe the world around me, the universe of stars and flowers. Of poetry in the air. Capturing words in my head. With wonder in my soul I look at the details of every place I may be in (or may be observing) with the feeling of privilege that I am in such a place. I stand in the beautiful glasshouses in Oxford Botanic Garden, thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and other flowers, and I am more conscious of the very moment. I slow down my breathing to take it all in and let my senses observe by scent. I wish I could save the scent of this glasshouse.

The quiet is amplified by the occasional drip of water within the glasshouse. It is the sound of growth.

Stepping outside, the sounds of birds chime through the trees. Quite content they should be with the variety of trees and plants in this space. 

There is something about being with nature and plants. Observing their patience in growing. They don't expect to blossom from seed to maturity in a week. It is years of nurturing and posturing. Some of the trees I stood next to provide the oxygen to me as they did a hundred (or more) years ago. This same place. This very spot. It is overflowing with history and grace.

God is not split between the religious and the secular. He is in everything. He is everywhere.

Leaving my middle-earth calm, wise, and clear.
- George MacDonald