Xenia Coaching

An Invitation


 

Come to the Millpond

The sun sprinkles spots to frolic on the roadway— the black ribbon twisting and climbing to spill over the mountain crest and slide down hills below.

Wind-­‐kissed trees sway and wave their welcome, turkeys search for food through prickly underbrush, a deer pauses at road’s edge, wary and uncertain as a hawk dives at prey—then gone, a flash in the sky.

Rounding the curve, maples anchor a gravel lane ambling toward a stone bridge with its coat of moss— fast water tumbles over rocks racing to the woods.

Diamond shards of sun skip across the lake, lily pads dip and dance to the beat of the wind, white flowers curtsy and bow to their partners as frogs boom the bass to birds sweet notes.

Velvet lawns reach to touch a big red barn and tiny ice house, then curls green fingers around clusters of trees-­‐protecting secret spaces.

Adirondack chairs snuggle under the apple tree, nestle among scented pines, and at the walnut tree stretch their arms toward the lake—cradling dreams and intentions moving to action.

The house wears its white like a ballroom dress, accented in red and bedecked with green shutters; tiers of gardens, the floral flounce along its hem.

Light streams from windows shattering the falling dusk. Solid in the earth, a welcoming stone waits before steps leading upward to the door— knock and enter. Be curious, explore, and play—space unfolding. 

 

Mary Ann Morreale

October 2010 

 

 

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