The last time I shared the life of the gardens nighttime temperatures were below freezing and there was snow on the ground.
Now windows are opened both day and night while the cacophony of bird songs overwhelm one’s sense of hearing.
Babies are born, flowers grow and vegetables harvested.
The gardens are another year older as are its inhabitants …
the process of coming into being
of becoming important
Each spring layers disappear and what lies beneath waiting
Emerges into the light of a new season
If there is snow we see a season of white
Otherwise we see shades of brown and gray
But walk slowly and look closely
and you will see colors of spring and summer
I stood alone amongst swaying trees
Groaning, creaking bark rubbing against bark, branches entwined cracking
A cold, damp wind permeated my soul
I sought refuge with the Dreamer…
and realized I had not been the only one
I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and clutched my coat hoping to keep the cold at bay
Even on frozen days the garden’s beauty shines through
The garden is a refuge, not only for me but also for those who prowl its paths after dark
What was once a liquid is now a solid
It wraps itself around all it touches
Freezing as it follows paths dictated by gravity
Almost invisible to human sight small imperfections glisten like encrusted crystals
As warmth creeps back into the valleys what is first an almost imperceptible sound becomes louder as the melting ice releases itself from branches and berries and crashes to the forest floor
There is a peace that permeates one’s being while walking through a garden after a new fallen snow.
But along with that peace comes a feeling of sadness as the realization of knowing another season comes to an end.
Endings may be not be what they appear
Look into hidden corners of the garden and see what emerges from the snow cover ground
Allow your eyes to be drawn to vibrant colors in an otherwise neutral landscape
Rejoice in knowing this is not an end, only life passing through celestial cycles
As the sun sinks lower on the southern horizon his rays do not provide the same intensity of heat as on summer days.
These fragile creatures search for the last of summer flowers to rest and feast upon.
To watch them glide on invisible currents my heart aches for what is to come.
“This species is separated from the White-checkered skipper with confidence only by dissection and examination of the male genitalia.” from butterfliesandmoths.org