The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden.
I feel at peace, puttering in my garden. Dead heading petunias and pulling weeds from the earth. So far, everything is lush and green. The rain has been good for the day lilies and hostas, and the leafing dogwoods, and maple trees. Even the herb garden is coming back to life and when I stir the soil I can smell fresh mint leaves. When we first moved into our home, this garden was mostly bare except for straggly weeds and a small collection of lilies of the valley, ferns and a dying strawberry patch. Over the years this garden has evolved and has become a bit of fairyland with its huge hostas and tall green ferns and large groupings of lilies. I even love the ivy carpeting the back garden where the maple tree stands and the sand cherry trees are beginning to flower. A pretty pergola, built by my husband;stands in the middle, with purple blooms growing along the wood pillars, and behind it stands our side garden, with its large locust and cedar trees. A dogwood we found on the side of a highway, sits with its red limbs outstretched, circling our stone birth bath. Often birds will hop from a thin branch right into the birdbath, feeling safe surrounded by its coverage. The garden is a healing place, especially when it wakes up in the spring and we can witness the miracle of all things born again. It somehow feels like an extension of our own soul.