I try to think of my yard as a canvas...to be painted with a contrasting pageantry of colors. My landscaping imagination deserts me.. I need a book....full of color and ingenuity and fire. When it comes to originality,....well, lets just say its not in the DNA....at least not mine.
Ahead of myself again....I am merely in the seedling stage.........but I have to plan this out.......tentatively at the very least...keeping the possibility that I will meet with inspiration along the way. Divine inspiration. What other kind is there really.
And so the morning is spent transferring seeds from package to soil, taking care to center them.......allowing ample room for growth. Starting from seed allows me to be a part of each phase of the plants life as it evolves. I think it very creative......There are no duplications in nature...........only endless yields of originals. And to think it all starts in the palm of your hand. Intoxicating conception.
My kitchen is strewn with fertilizer, bits of small clumps of sticks and soil covered pebbles. Thankfully, most of it is in the 130 or so pods I filled. Using my thin nozzled spout I water gently and place them in the still cool morning sun.....tall white plastic identification tags inserted with care.
And now, to the very best part of the day. On the patio.....a cup of hot creamed tea..........camera......binoculars...and my trusted bird book close by. I sit....I wait. I lean my head back in the warm afternoon shade to watch....to listen. Birds are singing. A smile turns up the corners of my mouth. I settle deeper in my wrought iron swivel chair and breath a sigh of contentment. Life is good. Life is very, very good.
Unless you get caught in the moment, you might just miss it. An expensive price to pay when you meet life unaware.I remind myself again....stay with the moment. That is where the magic lies. In those moments your will of life is revealed. More than you might ever know. So trust this. Its not about breaking old habits. But rather nurturing and making room for the new. The stillness of a moment introduces us to what we have always known but forgotten. Life can be magical, miraculous. If only we fall into the pleasantness of now.
The bird show this afternoon is nothing short of spectacular....full of wonderment..and a joy that fills your heart with love. I hear a loud familiar song. Through the binoculars I spot a dazzling red male cardinal, perched high in a maple. His resplendent scarlet chest swelling proudly with each note he sings. I reach for the book, feverishly looking up his call. I grin. The grin turns into a full fledged smile. His melody of clear whistled notes is a courtship song.. But hey, its spring. And its utterly amazing.
While I'm out I need to tend the lavender. It has wintered over nicely. But weeds from last fall are choking them of life. The sweet scent of lavender touches me gently as my lungs fill with its heavenly bouquet. Their spreading abundantly. And I have two more I will be adding to this garden of eleven.
The two white climbing roses I planted last year have survived. I bend low....its branches are strong and it pricks needle sharp...I learn the hard way as I reach within for more dead leaves....its spear sharp...along with my language.
Tea still warm, I sit back down. The breeze picks up, tossing last falls leaves high in the air, to swirl and dance, gently falling onto the still brown grass. The wind brings us such magical captivating delights. I close my eyes.........the coconut chimes are swaying.... my ears satiated with music as their circular discs clap and clatter. I remind myself again......the very best things in life are free indeed.
Another sign of early spring catches my eye. A pair of soft buff grey mourning doves courting their hearts away. Their little hop-hop and wing flutter dance is yet another form of courtship. The female suddenly flies high on a branch. The male follows. If she stays, copulation is imminent.. And then, amazingly, he starts to serenade her. His courtship song is a soft, low Bow-coo ( a lonely mourning song). His beak seems to be closed but his neck stretches and then swells with oxygen as his sorrowful voice fills the air. His perch cooing works, as the female stays nestled closely by.
And to think I use to think of spring as only flowers popping from the ground.
This is good stuff. And tomorrow is a whole new day.....filled with more.......good stuff.
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