A Winter Garden Meditation
Your garden is already growing. You just can’t see it yet.
Now the ground looks dead and covered with collapsed stems. Birds flit about and search for what is left. As I walk in my Winter Garden, I begin to notice signs of new life. Fingertips of Daffodil bulbs shyly poke their heads through the leaves. The birds continue to shuffle through the leaves like teens at a thrift store.
Robins, Wrens, Cardinals and a house sparrow jockey for the seeds left out in a low saucer. My eyes follow their route from garden bed to saucer holding a mug of tea that steams in the crisp air. Chirps and calls thank me for the the dip in an newly filled bird bath. My hands start to feel warm around my mug. My heart too starts to warm.
I recall the early weeks of the month. I felt like a wooden boat iced in a harbor. The only way I could walk to my gate was to step in the footsteps my son had left in the snow. I felt cold inside and out. So much ice. So much hardness to bear in the world. So little care. My breath steams in the cold air.
It would be so easy to close up shop and go home. Yet the Birds call me over to the saucer, “Fill it with seed.” They call me over the Bath, “Fill it with water.” With these simple chores, the ice melts and care blooms. Emily Dickinson wrote “Hope is a thing with Feathers”…and I hear the flutter hovering above my head.
Soon roots will start pushing deeper and spreading their network of care. Soon the soil will awake and send the signal to begin. The seeds buried deeply will start to break open. The latent buds on tree branches will swell in the sun. Leaves, roots, and shoots will begin to grow.
Soon.
Soon.
Soon.
I don’t like waiting. I think about the caterpillar stuck inside the suffocating coffin of a cocoon. Unable to move, its elongated body liquifies down to the essentials. Like unbaking bread, this magical undoing takes place in the dark. Hidden from neighbors, friends, and lovers, the caterpillar is alone in the mystery. In the right moment, a butterfly emerges. The transformation from goo to goddess is complete.
Soon.
Soon.
Soon.
I recall this beautiful phrase from the Plant Ecologist. “Transformation is nature’s promise that nothing is truly lost.” The ice melts. The air warms. Soon the trees will remember their names. Bees nestled in the hollow stems of grasses will start to sing. I lift my face to the sun and breathe deeply. I will promise to keep my heart soft and open. I feel my garden holding me to it. “Remember to breathe, she says. You are still growing. You just can’t see it yet.”
I hope you enjoyed this moment to wander the garden of your mind. I hope it brought you a moment of ease, With warmth and gratitude, Wendell
