Over the last few weeks, I’ve watched the sun dip below the roof line of my apartment complex, the light through my balcony doors bringing my houseplants to life. My mind knew that same light was illuminating the fields to the west, but my heart wasn’t in it. My camera remained tucked in the closet, the golden hour untamed. Continue reading Back in the now
There’s a little lie we northern gardeners tell ourselves in the middle of winter, a mantra we chant through frigid lips.
We like the break that winter affords us, turning cold, snowy days into opportunities to assess past performance and dream of future blooms. When else would we have time to pour over garden catalogs?
But the second the air teases of spring, we cast our winter diversions aside and rush to see those first green tips breaking through the soil. We spend the winter craving spring, living for a future instead of being mindful in the present. Continue reading Being mindful in the garden
The tone for the day is often set the moment we set foot out the door. This morning a steady drizzle greeted me, the annoying kind of rain that scoffs at umbrellas and seems to surround you in Newtonian disobedience. The sky was a murky gray, barely betraying a sun that had risen an hour earlier. It was the kind of welcome that inspires daydreams of hibernation courtesy of a blanket, hot tea, and a good book.
But then I saw a single Hibiscus flower, drizzled with November rain, gently reminding me that there is always beauty, even in the gloom. Slowly, my eyes opened to more glimpses of splendor in my garden. The dreary morning became magical and I spent the day feeling like I’d walked into the sweet spot of the universe.