Angel's Garden
"When one touches the earth, one feels more alive," she says. And then
she goes to the kitchen and makes tea. She comes out minutes later
carrying a tray. Baby pink roses, various leaves float inside the
carafe.
We talk about many things. The mountain air. Corn coffee. Basking in the moonlight in the rocking chair at midnight. Talking to God, the Universe, the angels. The cold that runs deep to the bones. Family. The intricacies of relationships of a parent to child. Friends. How we need only few. Only the necessary. The expectations to act in a certain way in a culture where outward appearances are overvalued. And the blatant determination to remain true to oneself.
We talked about food. How she loves growing and making it. How we would love to eat it soon. How she does not mind the tediousness of preparation and cooking. Tedious, in fact is not in her vocabulary. But passion is. So is joy. These two are inseparable it seems.
We talk about Yolanda. How being stripped away has brought us to this place of clarity, that what matters most in life are largely immaterial. How at the end of the day all we have is who we are.
We pause, drink more tea, breathe.
I realize this is the first time we ever spoke like this. And it already feels like a lifetime of conversations. The effortless listening and speaking. And the steady comfort of taking it all in. Much like downing soothing liquid down a parched throat. Perhaps it is the mountain air. Or the tea filled with roses. Or the Holy Basil.
"Run your hands through the leaves," she tells me. "Then smell it." I do. The fragrance of Holy Basil fills my nostrils. She plucks a mulberry, hands one to me. "Taste it." It is crisp. Pure. Tangy.
"When one touches the earth, one feels more alive." Ma'am Angelica's words stay in my heart.
Here in the mountains of Milagro. Here where the mountain wind sings. Here where bird call declare mornings. Here where with a whistle, Angel, the beautiful mare comes waiting for her "ensaymada". Here where even as the fog settles on the ground obscuring everything, the one true thing remains clear: Very little is needed to find joy. Very little is required to build a life.
We talk about many things. The mountain air. Corn coffee. Basking in the moonlight in the rocking chair at midnight. Talking to God, the Universe, the angels. The cold that runs deep to the bones. Family. The intricacies of relationships of a parent to child. Friends. How we need only few. Only the necessary. The expectations to act in a certain way in a culture where outward appearances are overvalued. And the blatant determination to remain true to oneself.
We talked about food. How she loves growing and making it. How we would love to eat it soon. How she does not mind the tediousness of preparation and cooking. Tedious, in fact is not in her vocabulary. But passion is. So is joy. These two are inseparable it seems.
We talk about Yolanda. How being stripped away has brought us to this place of clarity, that what matters most in life are largely immaterial. How at the end of the day all we have is who we are.
We pause, drink more tea, breathe.
I realize this is the first time we ever spoke like this. And it already feels like a lifetime of conversations. The effortless listening and speaking. And the steady comfort of taking it all in. Much like downing soothing liquid down a parched throat. Perhaps it is the mountain air. Or the tea filled with roses. Or the Holy Basil.
"Run your hands through the leaves," she tells me. "Then smell it." I do. The fragrance of Holy Basil fills my nostrils. She plucks a mulberry, hands one to me. "Taste it." It is crisp. Pure. Tangy.
"When one touches the earth, one feels more alive." Ma'am Angelica's words stay in my heart.
Here in the mountains of Milagro. Here where the mountain wind sings. Here where bird call declare mornings. Here where with a whistle, Angel, the beautiful mare comes waiting for her "ensaymada". Here where even as the fog settles on the ground obscuring everything, the one true thing remains clear: Very little is needed to find joy. Very little is required to build a life.
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