My Secret Garden

Most Afternoons you can find me in my backyard listening to old jazz and working in my garden. There is nothing more satisfying to me than digging in the the brown earth and watching delicate foliage break through.

At a time in my life when more and more friends move towards marriage and motherhood ,while I am single for the first year in 6 years, I tell myself I haven't given birth but I can give life. Giving life to these living,breathing, organisms leaves me in such awe of Gods ability to create such beautiful works. I begin to feel more connect to the world. As if, when flowers dig roots I too dig roots.

Going to my local Nursery ( Park View) and picking seeds or flowers always excites me. I choose carefully and contemplate height, how the plant will spread, and always the shape, color, and texture of foliage. Seeds vary in size sometimes almost microscopic (chamomile) and other times large (morning glory). I enjoy starting from seeds the process is more involved and exciting. After planting the seeds the waiting is hard the first few days. I peek out side to see if something have sprouted. Nothing sprouts in 24 hours but I check anyway. (Its like a childhood December all over again. The first few days you are all excited then excitement wanes and gives way to forgetting then all of a sudden its Christmas). A few weeks go by and suddenly there is a definitive live of fresh seedling. It is so sweet to watch them grow.

As the sun precedes the twilight and gives the sky a lilac tinge. I pour a glass of wine and sit. I sit quiet and I relish the colors running towards me from the ground. Yellow Snapdragons. Orange, yellow and hot pink Gerber daisy. Red standard rose bush (tree). Pink Hollyhocks. Red strawberries scurrying across the ground dropping white petals behind them. Crimson and Clover. Over and over. Rocco red Ronocculus. And so much more. Silvery eucalyptus towering over my head. The Iris' that happen to be purple and gold. They look like 70 Laker fans tailgating. I can always hear myself exhale as I thank God for his perfection and majesty in my backyard. The perfection of Iris' Van Gogh merely imitates.