Nothing is perfect here yet. I have ideas and energy to give them shape. But it takes time. Time to plan, time to plant, time to turn the leaves and lawn clippings into compost, time to consider water in a dry land, time to let things fill in. I want intriguing pathways and inviting places to sit – or at least places that would make you imagine we actually sit in the garden. I want all the interest we’re supposed to have: evergreen structure for the barren winter; pops of color for the heralding of spring; interesting bark, variegated foliage, and shade from summer’s wrath; and heartbreaking, nostalgic color in autumn. I want a sunny patch of fertile soil for the pleasure of contributing praise-worthy tomatoes to our dinner. And I want a rock, half buried in the shadowy ground, covered in moss.
I think I will have these things someday. Or, at least, I will have some of these things some days. Until those days though, I will remember that I have enough. I will remember that some day I will want nothing more than what I had today.
|The light from the setting sun gave me pause. A bright, quiet moment to be savored.|
|The scent of jasmine, finally climbing the arbor with vigor, was intoxicating.|
|I live within driving distance of the Napa Valley, aka "Wine Country". I was pleased to see grapes |
already growing on this vine in the ground less than a month.
|Birdhouse and suet created at a birthday party . . . more for us than the birds.|
|It looks like she's running from the camera but she's really just chasing|
her new dog, Gus. Her laughter and his tiny yips fill the evening with
innocence and my heart with gratitude.