Mourning summer
When we walk in the garden, we walk amongst Gods
There is little that makes me happier than sitting in the garden with you. Often I was the one seated and you had your hands deep in the earth. I would sip tea and you let yours go cold and when people tell us the moments that produce awe are found in the simplicity of human nature, we must acknowledge its truth.
We’ve not sat in the garden in over six weeks. Not been on snail watch for what feels like forever or beckoned the other to a small corner of paradise to show their findings. After only our first year of growing a garden I know life will never be the same again.
When we walk amongst a garden we walk amongst Gods. Whether it a thorny armour for a large home or a little balcony with a dusting of herbs. Something holy is present, and we are whole with them. Tenders of our own paradise. A small part of the world that is ours to nourish and as we do, we breathe sustenance into the space and it returns that gift not only for us, but for those who come after. Stewards of a little patch of land, making it up as we go.
When we met I was just a seed. A happy one, nesting and waiting for you. Beside you I grew into something more beautiful, something very soft and very strong all at once.
When we feel lost in life heading into a garden is a good place to begin. When we have been found, heading to a garden is a good place to continue. When a chapter closes and the next great adventure begins, the garden is the perfect platform to write a new one.
Now that the last of greenery surrenders itself to the earth without hesitation, I must let the vision of summer go too so I can have both feet in the new, only occasionally glancing back with longing because whoever said they didn’t spend any time past dreaming is lying to themselves, and the Gods, and it’s best not to do that while your bulbs lie hopeful in the earth.
Next year we won’t be here to tend our garden and the temptation to feel sad about this is delicious - but that’s the thing with a new chapter. You can’t physically take the old with you. Can’t do it all at once or have every season when you want it. Can’t witness something growing when your eyes are somewhere else, but hopefully your mind can always take you there.
There are new gardens to grow now. My love for you which is ever nourishing and the seeds we’ve planted for our life. The season to water them has arrived.