suburban wabi sabi
The inevitable autumn storm of acorns and leaves has started. Which leads me to one of my favorite puns: fall is falling.
(Oh puns. So punny.)
Neither of the two huge, beautiful, oak trees that tower above our house are planted on our property, but gravity doesn't pay attention to land titles. Gravity insists that the leaves fall under the branches. Which are above our property. Happily, I might add. I appreciate the hell out of those trees. They provide shade and bird habitat and make me generally happy.
I just don't really like raking leaves.
I like to tell myself wouldn't mind raking so much if I wasn't so allergic to leaf mold.
And then I remember I bought dust masks to do my gardening with this summer, which also works for leaf raking.
So, OK, I still don't like raking. I'd rather let the leaves stay where they fall (haha) and let them rot into glorious composty goodness. But that doesn't work so well in suburbia. And the new dirt would probably cover our house in about five years. So, there's that.
Suburbia doesn't leave much room for wabi sabi.
And that's ok.
This is wabi sabi practice in and of itself - letting myself subvert suburbia as much as I can, where I can. Like my porch Buddha - broken and peeling. Aged and beautiful. But in the backyard, so as to not annoy my neighbors.
I do what I can to cultivate beauty.
It's just that my sense of beauty is more encompassing than most suburbanites.
My sense of beauty covers the world and expands, limitlessly.
My sense of beauty can even incorporate suburban beauty standards, which is why after I do finally rake the front yard, I'll be proud enough of myself to think it really does look better than the "before." And then I'll plant some more bulbs and cover it over with a layer of store-bought mulch.
Because this is where I live: suburbia.