rosemary contemplation

The sun streams into the courtyard at Santa Sabina Retreat Center, softening the chill morning air. I walk the path slowly–tulips over there, a few poppies that the sun hasn’t struck, not yet open by my feet.

As I pass by, I squeeze the four foot rosemary with my whole hand; it’s in early bloom this second day of April. The pungent smell reaches my nose before my fingers, and a sharp inhale carries that medicinal, juniper-like scent clear through me. It’s a layered richness; like a fine wine it teases to be known. I squeeze a branch on the next bush, bring my fingers against my nostrils this time—so the oils will remain there—and suck air through.

Rosemary and Amrita, Amrita and rosemary: I cannot find a margin where one stops, the other begins. Experientially, not two.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

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