Friday, March 20, 2020

A different kind of garden dreaming

Where to even begin? It's March 2020 and the world is a different place, but the natural world moves on. The daphne is still blooming, the daffodils are going strong, and buds on everything are beginning to swell and open. Spring waits for no one. And it's such a respite right now. To see every small thing, to notice, to honor, to take a breath, and be grateful for this one, small moment. 

When we are living in a continuous wave of crashing news, pandemonium, fear and danger, the simplicity of what's right in front of us: our breath, our feet on the earth, the flowers or trees or birds, give us grounding. I've been going to our parks, forests, and neighborhood walks to find solace and to catch my breath. 

 My favorite tree is blooming. (oh who am I kidding? I have a million favorite trees, but this is a favorite. It has been cared for so well through the years. Thank you Gus, for taking care of your tree for all of us to enjoy it.) 

The forsythia holds and emits the morning light. 

And the 50+ crocus we planted in the grass are blooming their heads off. 

I've yet to dig into the garden in these past days (that feel like weeks and months): frozen in fear, dismay, and kept inside by housepainters working on the exterior of our house. But I'm not sure what I'm going to do this year in the garden. I know it's becoming a major focus, both because it's seasonally time for it to be, and because I need it right now. We need it. I garden for myself, my love, my neighbors, and for all who walk past it. It's a place to receive and to give. It's a place to connect with the earth, my spirit, and to practice loving kindness. And I know I'm writing again here. So hello again. Hello.