Words are important.
But sometimes there seem to be too many of them. Too many we’ve heard, spoken, written and read. This week has begun to feel like one of those times.
Whenever I’ve passed through the garden in the last few days — to do a little yard work, or on my way to the studio — I’ve felt drawn to this bowl.
It feels, somehow, as if it might hold answers. Wordless answers.
It does contain a kaleidoscope of fallen leaves.
The complicated leaf patterns compete with reflections of the very trees they’ve recently fallen from.
The bowl looks quite different at each visit. New leaves are added its miniature world, but it’s the ever-changing light that makes the biggest difference.
Each day, it seems to hold a different message.
Words like “augury” and “scrying” and “oracle” pass through my mind.
But we’re getting back to words again, and we agreed we’ve had too many of them this week.
Plus, it’s actually not a crystal ball, but Geordie’s outdoor water bowl. He wonders why I’m letting it get so full of floaty bits, so I guess I’ll have to empty and clean it soon.
I’m still almost sure there are answers in there, even if I’m not qualified to interpret them fully.
I do know it’s very calming to stand there and wonder for a few moments — which is why I’m sharing my gazing bowl with you this week.
Mavis, the Oracle of East Van
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