I have always foraged in places of growing things. Plucked wisps of nature and used them to imbue our home with earthy hues and memories of yesterdays. A tawny feather, a reminder of a quiet walk together and hot tea from the thermos. And the drying blooms whose palette ever so slowly changes from vivid to muted brings recollections of tiny hands and large hearts. All about our home are memories bearing nature's many guises; leaves, grasses, seed pods, feathers and stones. And whilst the delicate tones of amber, ochre and sage soothe and inspire, these still lifes steeped in memory allow me at times to dwell in the past a little longer than is best.
Lately my eyes have been drawn to green. Spherical clover leaves in the backyard as I watch the babies play and loop yarn over needles. Whisper light ferns finding roots in dry and creviced places devoid of hospitality. Proud succulents swollen with moisture and life. They hold no tangible memories and their future growth pattern isn't set in stone. In all their vivid life they are neither talismans of the past nor dreams of the future and for this reason I have chosen to bring some indoors. Their growth is a creation of the present and reminds me to draw breath and be in the now. To rein in my mind from it's wanderings into the past and from its galloping off into the future. To focus my attention and my awareness in the moment - to be mindful.