and time marches on
The last of the tulips have been replaced with geraniums, peony buds, alliums, and more weeds than I count.
Already, I am behind with my gardening, so much to catch up on from two years of neglect. I tell myself it will be okay, I will get there, I can’t do it all at once. And of course, I can’t. And, of course, it will be okay.
I focus on one bed at a time, one small patch, pulling weeds, dividing plants, adding mulch, making pretty. And then I smile at myself because it’s funny, really, this constant battle to tame this patch of land, to make it into what I want, regardless of Mother Nature’s intentions.
This is what gardening is, really: a constant tug of war with nature. And it’s a good thing I love a challenge.
This morning I sat outside with tea, it’s an incredibly still, overcast day, and the silence that is never really silent settled over me like a blanket.
The wildlife is oh-so-busy: a hummingbird hovered by my head, hoping I might move away from the lantana plant he was after, a woodpecker knock-knocked in the distance, bumblebees bumbled, songbirds were singing.
For a moment, I felt despair creep in, looking at this mess, all this work to do, wondering how I let it get so out of control. Life has its own plans for us, always. Mother Nature is a good mother, knowing when to nurture and when to force us to stand on our own. Teaching us to work for what we want, to accept what we are given, to revel in the moments of sunshine.
And there will be more rain, more cold, more wind. There will be damage.
But there will always be flowers again, rising up from the messiest tangle of weeds, fighting for their place in the sun. Reaching for life.
I sat there like a flower.
Still. Quiet. Listening.
Learning to grow.
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