These days I walk to my garden to look at the sunflowers, the beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, kale, gourds, and squash. I enjoy taking my time, often just standing there like someone who has never seen a garden before.
In the early hours of the day I see the dew still clinging to the leaves. My feet feel the dampness and some of the dirt clings to my sandals. A cardinal and a wren compete up in the trees to see who can sing best. My senses are given such a gift as my hands touch the plants, the fragrance of the tomato plant, pungent and full of summer, brings back memories of gardens past.
What keeps me standing in that space, inside that fence, are the sunflowers, with the morning light filtering through those yellow petals, the fine little hair on the stalk and leaves. The stalk alone brings to mind the magic beans planted by Jack…
I circle and pause, circle and pause, moving a leaf here and there.
Then as the sun climbs higher the bees arrive. I can hear their soft hum and see the delicate wings. I witness the miracle of their relationship; the flower needs the bees and the bees need the flower. They exist for each other.
This is the gift of the day, this precious time to see and savor what is. Time to hear those birds, to learn their songs and their colors. Time to feel the heat of a summer morning on my skin. Time to watch a doe and her two fawns late in the evening as they go by.
I could trade all this in and do something considered “ambitious” that would earn a wage. This goes through my mind a lot.
But I don’t want to miss this.
My intention (which, by the way, is another word for ambition) is to stand in my garden and watch these miracles unfold.
And share them with you.