Blooms of Love
The birds are fed. The cats are fed. Wordle is in the books. My day begins. I’m thinking about my garden again and the satisfaction it offers. The work I put in these days is mostly cosmetic and minor at that. Since I grow native plants there aren’t many things I call weeds. Of course, there’s always the random grass to pull and bindweed, nut grass, and silverleaf night shade are my banes, but that’s about it. I pull what I can reach and try to keep order but mostly I just walk around and look.
There’s a lot to see, and it changes as the day progresses and the seasons progress and the years move along. I’ve got a pretty good film bank in the old brain, shots of young plants now grown old. Old plants spreading and colonizing. Plants wishing for water, plants wishing for sun. I guess you could say they’re all my babies, and I love them, and I suppose their blooms, in a manner of speaking, is a return of that love.
And it all makes me think of people and a garden of friends. You love them and nurture them and they return the love in one form or the other but sometimes, not. Where we get crossways, I think, is expecting that love or expecting anything, and then becoming unhappy when expectations fall short. A lesson from the flowers, is that things bloom in their season and there are lots of variables and the flowers’ performance is hardly personal and when there’s a plant problem, I just keep working to solve it. And sometimes I fail. Yet, still I try. And I hardly ever get upset. And that’s a good thing to do with people. Just keep trying, giving of yourself, and celebrating the blooms of love when they come.