Naomi Bulger: messages in bottles

I am so excited that Deborah of Wild Hope has agreed to write a guest post here while I'm off gallivanting in Europe. I have known Deborah for more than 15 years, and she is one of the most passionate, creative and authentic people I have ever met. We lost contact for many years and when we found each other again, lo and behold she was the mother of two adorable children who fill her days (and nights) with more than I can imagine. You mothers will understand. Joy, exhaustion and great love in a glorious, chaotic mix. Am I right? I am thrilled to have Deborah back in my life, and introduce her family into yours. 

There was life in my belly.
  And I knew her name.
  I had known her name for as long as I remembered my own heart beating.
  It whispered to me in my in dreams.
  It crawled out of pages in books.
  It blew in with a blossom in the Spring breeze, landing itself on my window sill.

Bright vision.

So we adorned the house with warm and precious things.
  To signify her history.
  To herald her future.
  To celebrate her imminent presence.
  Texture, colour, smell, and sound.
  All swirled around us.
  And filled up our senses.

From my country of birth, the sweet smell of batik. 

And the gentle curve of teak wood.

From my sister, the softness of a quilt.

And from another sister, tokens from the sea.

From my grandmother, a treasured book.

From our garden, the scent of fresh blooms.

From her father, a song.

And from me, a little Rose Garden. 

Then we were still.
And with the grace of all her brightness,
she stepped into the light.