The back garden's nearly complete ...
When you live with PTSD,you get highs and lows and the last week or two have been a definite low. I lost myself in doing my garden, having rich, black soil all over my hands and arms and under my finger nails. I worked in whatever weather was present. Cooled by the rain as I watched the black pearls of soil mingled with rain roll down my arms, towards the roots of the new plants that I was potting. I felt connected and protected and sensed that necessary exchange of energy between myself and the rest of the natural world.
A song that I hadn't listened to in a good while had me thinking about the guys I served with and some of the mental grinder that we went through in Northern Ireland. It brought life to a complete stand still for the rest of that day. The next day I was out again ... potting, weeding, brushing. The physical pain was great by the end of the potting, I could hardly rotate my waist and every movement caused more pain ... but it was worth it. It was worth every drip of sweat and every pound of pain because when I sit out there in the darkness now I see the flickering solar lamps, the effigy of the Lord Buddha and the departing light of the day still glows with the vibrance and colours of the new tenants that I share my living space with ... the plants and their colourful presence.
There's also been a development in bird species frequenting this space: I saw a peregrin falcon over my roof space that's made return journeys, no doubt looking for a pigeon or dove to hunt; and yesterday a sparrow hawk patrolled through, probably drawn by the bird feeding station's users.
Today's task is to tidy this work room up and then to do some business related work.
I hope yours is a good day too.