More Frolicking, Please

Frolic: (def) to play and run about happily

Yesterday I spent a few hours at Hidden Villa, a place that I have come to recognise as sacred space for myself. I strolled through the sunny garden, trying to ascertain the difference between rhubarb and red chard. I breathed in the aromas of various herbs and at least 5 different types of sage, and crawled around on the ground until I could pinpoint which plant was smelling like chamomile. I made friends with the pigs, the cows, the sheep, and the goats. I yanked leaves off a bay tree and tucked some in my pocket for making red pasta sauce later. I admired the chickens, the green valley, the compost pile, the butterflies.

And after a scrumptious picnic lunch savored beside a frisky stream, I frolicked.


I tromped through the middle of the stream, not caring that my jeans were getting wet. I ducked under poison oak branches dangling dangerously over the water, and listened to the crunch crunch of my Tevas on pebbles. I searched for newts, tiny fish, and the illusive Giant Pacific Salamander. I was happy and carefree, like I used to be when I was a kid searching for crawdads in a stream near where I grew up.

Lately life has been about Responsibilities and Duties and Shoulds. So to spend a few hours frolicking and exploring with child-like wonder has been good for my soul. And while having an afternoon of frolic is somewhat akin to eating one pistachio nut and having to stop, I trust that my Creator will happily point me to the whole bag of pistachios (or the pistachio factory) with perfect timing and grace.