Editor’s note: This article was submitted for publication Fall 2018. This is a late upload.
By: Joseph Rich
It takes a long time to grow. We come to see many changes, many seeds sprout that come after us under our umbrella. Getting older we broaden and become magnificent and often forget how much we have taken in, how much we have become, how much shade we have offered just being around not unnoticed.
Signs of Spring
The smallest of the flowers poked its head forth, royal blue, its shape that of a royal trumpet. “Hear, ‘I am’ to hail the way,” I sense it calls. Over yonder, another raises its head and tomorrow more. The ants build their dunes like ancient Indian burial grounds, moving out into the world to collect what is valuable to them. Off they go, to experience life, bringing gifts back to the dune feeding queen mother and who is to say they’re not conscious? Perhaps not conscious of you and your consciousness, but that makes them much like us. Perhaps they hope you will live and let live. How precarious and interdependent are we both in this life.
The Ivy has clung fiercely to the base of the oak tree throughout the winter, internally knowing where safety is found. Camellia trees bloomed throughout the cold, each in its turn. Each is a different face and all beautiful. Some who came here shared their grace even in the winter.
The lilies…the lilies have all gone. They surrounded the birdbath in silence, as the birds found the healing waters. They sang to the universe as the lilies rose from the depths, just below the surface of sight. They rise to surround the center of the birds’ joy, that place they know to take a cleansing daily if only for a few moments, singing now and flying high they know why. It is her duty to fly high, her birthright.
The squirrels come down from the great oak tree again, curious to see if I will feed them once more. I always have. They are young and accustomed to the security of their nest. But spring is calling and what’s new awaits. What is new? Everything born again.
The azalea’s bloom Royal, in pastels, and soulful hews. Blooming in the Creator’s image, willing for it to be so and so too must we. Beautiful is so short and eternal. Some in the garden choose never to flower for fear of a quick death. Some simply chose to be a shade to balance the picture, or was it chosen for them? The soul of spring knows.
Here and there the leaves fall and change as signs to show its time to grow. The oak is watching, strong and protecting. It sees the garden below its canopy. It is knurled and scared, a broken branch or two, but how beautiful like you. I wonder if it knows? I sense it must. Do you know how beautiful you are gnarls and all?
In one corner a cluster of bamboo sits in peace, silent to catch the winds of spirit, however soft they may blow. Subtle this bamboo, mysterious, filled with living water within. It speaks of oracles and food for the body, for the soul. In every garden of the soul rest bamboo quietly in its place.
Climbing, curling in upon itself and anything near, the wisteria sends its feelers forth. “‘I just want to touch you, gently hold you, and bring beauty to your life.” It calls! I hear you.
Little seed pods from the past fallen to the earth, you have new blooms, new plumes, spring must be near. Berry bushes, bridals breath is there a wedding near? Oh yes, I do see a Georgia peach waiting to be picked.
The robins are singing soprano, the blue jays Alto, the woodpecker crested in full uniform keeps a faithful beat. He is taking the worms he is given and converting them to live. “Life is feeding on life.” Life is feeding the body and soul of other. No right or wrong. No God against the garden or garden against its God. And in this garden, I choose to feed those who come. First sparrows, then blue jays, and this morning the doves have arrived. There is peace in the garden. Spring has arrived. There are signs of spring all around.
