Crocuses blooming, green blades of tulips thrusting from the ground, the bobbing face of a jonquil, pots of pansies glowing in the sun. Arrivals of spring only a few days before the vernal equinox itself.
Spring, that time in which we breathe deeply again after a cold dark winter. When hope seems to bloom amid the flowers. Afternoons at work become long and too warm as we gaze out the window whenever we have the chance. Fresh air, fresh air! If only the windows in the energy-saving, hermetically sealed buildings could be opened.
It’s a Friday night, looking toward a sunny weekend. That restless feeling inside, something wanting to ride along with the many births of spring into the New. Wanting to move into a different flow before the dense heat of summer. A seed of story trying to sprout past the weariness of homogeneity.
Gardening is a passion for many people. The smell of freshly dug soil, how it feels between our fingers, depositing a series of seeds, potting tender plants. Then the god-like fascination we feel as we watch our younglings grow. See, we can do something; we can create something beautiful, something that tastes good, food for our winter cupboards.
Planting gives us a power we need after dealing with daily doses of disempowerment at the hands of those who don’t understand. Planting--whether it be seeds, shoots, trees; whether it be sketches, plot outlines, a new melody riff--planting is what we must do during this spring and any springtime. Our lives depend on it.
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Of all the wonderful things in the wonderful universe of God, nothing seems to me more surprising than the planting of a seed in the blank earth and the result thereof.
--Julie Moir Messervy
Gardening is civil and social, but it wants the vigor and freedom of the forest and the outlaw.
--Henry David Thoreau
A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself.
The many great gardens of the world, of literature and poetry, of painting and music, of religion and architecture, all make the point as clear as possible: The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden. If you don't want paradise, you are not human; and if you are not human, you don't have a soul.