art of slow living

Shape

November 11, 2017 By Allison

Without darkness, nothing comes to birth.
As with light, nothing flowers.
-May Sarton

Early morning stillness… the Earth rests. I flutter in and out of a last dream. What time is it? Still dark.
I roll on my side. Push myself up. Feet dangle over the carpet. Gentle movements. Deep breath. My feet touch the floor. Warm socks, cozy wrap.

Time to shuffle downstairs. What shall I drink?

Cool water in the kettle. Tea tins in the cupboard.

Black tea? Yes.

How about a Ceylon? Smooth, elegant. Just right.

The water trembles. Shy light filters through the blinds. A couple of teaspoons of dry leaves slipped into the teapot. The water begins to bubble… Just a little longer.

Ritual gives shape to our days. I await the first sip, and the events of today take root in my mind’s eye. As the day unfolds, they will push through the surface. Now, though, I focus on the breath running through me.

Cicada Song

August 26, 2017 By Allison

Then each one of us, […] will move back out on the pitch-black porch and let the body heat of the day leech from the house and our own bodies out onto the night, its billion singers—tree frogs, cicadas, the deathless crickets, the high whine of bats–” Renyolds Price, Outdoor on the Porch

This bean has recently fallen under the spell of cicada music. As the day’s last light falls, she wanders from Grandma’s porch into the front yard to explore the emerging sights and sounds of twilight… she seems most intrigued by cicadas, which the Bean Girl sometimes refers to as bicadies.

She hears their song—verging on deafening—but she doesn’t see them. Perplexed, she returns to the porch, peppering Uncle Jack and Aunt Allison with questions. What are cicadas/bicadies? Where are they? Why do they make that noise?

We dig deep to share what we remember about the insect. In the winter, they live underground. After many years, they are ready to come up and spend time in the trees. Cicadas have wings. When Uncle Jack gets technical, Bean Girl makes her way back to the yard, swatting at oak and hickory trees with sticks. She hopes to lay her eyes on a cicada.

Her precocious exploration sparks my own inquiry. What do cicadas teach us? I recall that they are a beloved symbol of Provence. They spend years underground before seeking the sunlight. 19^th century poet Frédéric Mistral even granted cicadas their own motto: the sunlight makes me sing.

That light is slipping through our fingers. The evening air is heavy, but we feel autumn coolness pushing up against these last days of summer. As Bean Girl searches the yard, we settle deeper into our spots on the porch and sip the last of the rosé, engulfed in cicada song.

Inspirations

Out on The Porch

The Song of the Cicada

Impromptu Porch Party

August 19, 2017 By Allison

The beginning of August was gloriously cool and breezy—not Iowa State Fair weather by any stretch of the imagination. Mom’s cozy front porch is underused, so one day I welcomed her home from work with a mini porch party. It was a snap to organize this tiny gathering:

–I mixed up a pitcher of Aperol Spritz—a refreshing and slightly bitter Italian apéritif we drank during our trip to Florence a few years back. Happy memories of relaxed, buoyant terrace restaurants!

–I picked up some nibbles at the local grocery—pitted olives, bocconcini (bite-sized mozzarella) marinated in olive oil, parsley, and red pepper flakes, roasted and salted pistachios.

–I pulled out Mom’s most colorful glassware, which are works of art in themselves.

Our porch party required a little thought but not much action. It came together quickly and allowed us to have a relaxed, lighthearted moment together, enjoying the flowers and the late summer light.

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