Sand Curl

"I headed out,staff in hand. The land was calling, how liberating it was to step away and in a few minutes, hidden, I could sink to into the sand, fynbos, birds, wind, ocean all cradling as I curled and lay - to feel and listen."

Sometimes I have an inner calling to have sacred time in nature. It is very different from the walks I take daily. Its a soft voice whispering, go climb a mountain. Go sit in a Tree. Go find a spot to Be. The spot to be found was a persistent voice. So I took a pashmina to sit on, my staff that I carved from an oak branch years ago and just headed off.

I wanted to have a closer look at the copse of trees that run in a curving line hugging the dunes. I felt the bushes leaving their tiny teeth in my skin, wandering through fynbos is not for the faint hearted and I should not really wear shorts - next time I will know better. The sand has tiny tracks on not yet named beasties, tiny footsteps. I felt like an Elephant. It is a delicious feeling to be a pioneer on your own doorstep!

I finally found a spot that sang in me, a small space between some scratchy plants that rustled and dipped, very alive... as I sat, I could feel the warmth of the day seeping through my shorts. I put my hands flat on the sand, gave thanks and overcome, I simply curled up, fetal position. I lay on my Mother, closed my eyes to drift into the smells, sounds and roar of ocean just a dune away.

Love was everywhere, in every intake of my breath, every call of bird, in every tiny grain of sand...