I left for the weekend, my garden bursting with summer's cardinal flowers, impatiens, and geraniums. Autumn colors of gold and rust mixed with delicate red and pink Mandeville buds. I returned home to find a slaughtering frost had transformed masses of colorful flowering plants into wilted piles of dull green.
Today, I decide to say goodbye to summer's fecundity by ceremoniously unwinding the Mandeville vines instead of cutting and pulling them off the trellis. As I work, I notice each wilted bud, thankful for their beauty, their hope in the future.
Leaves and vines curl everywhere, some still alive and viable, reaching far from their trellis home into the potted willow tree nearby filling autumn-bare corkscrew branches with leaf cover. As I uncurl each green finger, I smile at the barren willow's leafy disguise. I wonder how often I attempt to cover my unfruitfulness by standing near someone in full bloom.
I tried saying hello to winter's dark days, to slowing down and holing up, but with sunshine on my back and warm weather predictions, I'm just not ready. This goodbye gesture is enough; it reveals my desire for deeper authenticity, for asking what wants to bloom in me. Like the Mandeville, perhaps many of my buds will die before reaching fulfillment. I want to respond as gracefully as the vine, believing life is not about forcing blossoms, but living fully into hope and promise.
Joyfully,
Sharon
Today, I decide to say goodbye to summer's fecundity by ceremoniously unwinding the Mandeville vines instead of cutting and pulling them off the trellis. As I work, I notice each wilted bud, thankful for their beauty, their hope in the future.
Leaves and vines curl everywhere, some still alive and viable, reaching far from their trellis home into the potted willow tree nearby filling autumn-bare corkscrew branches with leaf cover. As I uncurl each green finger, I smile at the barren willow's leafy disguise. I wonder how often I attempt to cover my unfruitfulness by standing near someone in full bloom.
I tried saying hello to winter's dark days, to slowing down and holing up, but with sunshine on my back and warm weather predictions, I'm just not ready. This goodbye gesture is enough; it reveals my desire for deeper authenticity, for asking what wants to bloom in me. Like the Mandeville, perhaps many of my buds will die before reaching fulfillment. I want to respond as gracefully as the vine, believing life is not about forcing blossoms, but living fully into hope and promise.
Joyfully,
Sharon
A beautifully written and touching post. Your words certainly bare fruit, as gracefully as any of natures plants.
ReplyDeleteThank you Barry. I'm honored to share hope with you.
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