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February 1, 2014

A Perfect Time to Practice. ~ Jenee Gregor

It’s 2:15 and I know the perfect time is coming.

The wind blows gently in the giant 150 year old tree growing out of the left of my front soft worn deck. The kitties look at me curiously as I collect my accoutrements.

Pulling off whatever sweater I have refused to take off during the day, walking to the hallway closet and this worn maroon roll spins the wheels on the skateboard next to it, whizzing as I lift the mat and tuck it under my arm.

Turning the corners, smiling to myself.

Two clicks on the computer and some Veuix Farke Toure spills onto my sun-drenched sliver and I toss the mat out, shooing the stray acorns from underneath. The sun kisses my pale shoulders, and warms the cool places deep in my muscles. I mimic the mountains on the horizon. I breathe in, breathing in the Blue Oak as it leans over me in a perfect canopy. Pines line the edge of the small property line, in this moment they are everything.

Standing at the front of my mat, I reach for that endless blue sky behind entangled branches painted in green lichens.

I love the sun on my arms, and as I become fluid in my motions, my body knows the poses, it knows how to flow to make this little cricks stretch into oblivion.

As I feel more like myself, and I become fuller in my passage from each strength pause, the wind corresponds. Into warriors the leaves crinkle together, hundreds of leaves loosening in deciduous pattern, a few pieces of acorn shell twirl down to entice the playful furry kitten sisters perched by the edge of the deck.

Relishing in my movements enjoying this prime epoch where the sun directs itself through those trees to my beautiful mat and grateful skin. When the breezes no longer carry a full warmth and the brilliant orb begins to retire behind the mountains and the cool air escapes from the lake and creek down the cliffs reaching my oasis, it is almost time for rest.

I ask my body what else it needs and I lay down into savasana.

The refreshing air relaxes my muscles and we thank each other for this practice. I thank this oak for sharing this space with me. I thank this red clay, hard ground for holding up my unsteady life. Thanking my Aerostar that is as old as I am. Grateful, that at 2:30 in the afternoon, my front porch is warm enough to do yoga outside.

Every day. I wake up I think to my perfect break time at 2:30. Being lucky enough to work from home, I almost plan my day around it if I can. I am grateful that I have found myself living in a place that isn’t knee deep in snow right now. Growing up in Michigan, I am no stranger to frozen toes and skin stinging wind. Now in my ripe age of 25 (ha!) I find myself in a tank top in January absorbing sunshine barefoot facing the sun in my daily yoga practice.

Finding my time, that time I make to quench the body of the thirst of the daily wear and tear. I found my discipline that I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing than yoga in the sun in the pseudo-treehouse deck.

The warm feeling is something that soothes me when the “Why do I live all the way out here?” woes appear.

So, I am grateful for the little sun drenched discipline.

 

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Assistant Editor: Ffion Jones/Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: Authors own

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Jenee Gregor