This morning I sit by my first garden, between the early morning shining sun in the east and the fading moon in the west. My feet in the cool grass. Two cardinals sing in the trees. A gold finch waits by the feeder. Ravens fly from rooftop to rooftop, watching me as I watch them. Since yesterday’s rain the humidity is gone and a breeze rustles the trees, their arms sway against a cerulean sky. It is then I knew my gardener’s soul arrived.
I’ve always loved the book The Secret Garden, a story about the healing power of a garden. Although my garden is for vegetables, the process of bringing it to life and watching it grow is more rewarding than I could have imagined. My only regret is not planting one sooner.
More quiet time at home over the last few months, has given time for pursuing projects and passions at home I may not have taken the time for with a long commute. Even saving a couple hours a day of driving has given my life a balance that was missing for many years. The garden has become a symbol of the importance of giving time and quiet to myself so that I can grow.