In anticipation of our first snow, I surveyed the garden to see what I would see. Camera in tow, I headed down the stairs in the blustery wind and rain. What would possess me? Not exactly sure, but this I know for sure: I am driven by a strange desire to visit my plants– no matter what time of year. I have developed a profound connection with the plants.
Most perennials have been cut back to the ground and the trees and shrubs are now in complete focus. What do I see? Decline. Decay. Deterioration. Yet in the midst of this seasonal decomposition, a bit of steadfast determination has caught my eye. Possibility. Optimism. Is this a metaphor for hope?
Tiny buds wait patiently.
Cones cling tightly.
Green is ever so green.
The seasons of one’s life are really no different than those of the garden. Some seasons transition beautifully from one to another. Others are harsh and relentless. Like a garden, one must have a little expectation of better days to come. A stoic bud ready to open when inclement seasons have passed– a garden is life, filled with patience and hope.
Despite the dreary cold day which brought rain, thunder and lighting, the sun also shown near the afternoon’s final hours. Tonight will bring snow and a whole new crystallized palette for the garden.
And I, I will wait patiently.
