Don’t know what emotional alchemy...
…fires up with ageing that makes you seek meaning (and comfort) in nature.
I’ve never been a camp-under-the-stars kinda gal. Sure, the sparkles overhead would be glorious. But, the bugs? The mud? The things that go screech, grunt and hoot in the night? Not for me.
And yet, Mother Nature, even when flanked by concrete, can beguile me to distraction.
My window at work boasts sweeping views of a carpark and a lone tree I’ve named Jazz Hands because, on breezy days its little leaves perform for me. But it’s less soft shoe shuffle and more earnest flutter, in time and in unison.
Sometimes, when they catch the light, I imagine the leaves as little green sequins, shimmering this way and that –– the most unlikely meditative vista in town.
But what on earth can a city tree near a grimy carpark teach me?
This week, bursts of unforgiving torrential rain drenched my view. While people sprinted for cover, my Jazz Hands tree was unmoved. Only its leaves, nature’s sequins, flickered up a storm as the rain pelted down. Their shimmer stubborn, relentless –– because the show must go on, right?
It’s true. I’m a seeker for meaning. And probably a sucker too. But to me, the leaves were not drowning, just waving –– shining on, in spite of the storm.
A twee reflection, sure. But, so what? We all need reminders of our souls’ wattage when the clouds roll in.
But that’s just a philosophy. My Phylosophy.
© Phyllis Foundis 2025