By turning life over to look underneath, I can make my writing richer, my days richer. I discovered this in two ways this past week.
First: I sat outside basking in the first glorious day of spring. In one corner of my terrace a small red leaf maple tree grows in a pot. The tops of the leaves shone brightly in the sunlight, but the undersides of the leaves glowed a vibrant ruby red. Brightness is lovely, but the richness and blood come from underneath. Light is needed for both, though.
Second: On the next glorious day, I swung in my hammock under the rogue cherry tree in our back yard. As I rocked myself into a rapture of quiet, I noticed that the black-veined branches were like the leaded framework in a stained glass window, the blossoms and blue sky the colored glass. I was looking at the world from underneath, through a stained glass window of spring. When the wind rose, the stained glass window began to snow—showering down blossoms to make a blanket over me.
The trick is to open your mind to the idea that there is an underneath--in places you might not think to look for one. So what treasure might be waiting undiscovered beneath a blanket of blossoms? If I find out, I’ll let you know.
LORE OF THE BELL:
Look at the world from underneath
to hear the bells ring.