The last month of winter winds down as daffodils splash the gardens in dashes of bright yellows and oranges, and softer yellow forsythia shrubs promise that warmer air is on its way. I was worried that I would miss the spring flowers in the gardens here at home but they have only begun to share their secrets. Primroses colour the earth beside the front walk - dots of purple, red, yellow, and cream stuffed inside a twist of green leaves - and ornamental bushes sport tender green leaves, this year’s growth showing off as it announces itself to all who will stop to notice. There’s that burning bush metaphor again.
Gardens, gardening, seasons, seeds, harvest, pruning, deadwood, new growth, creation, soil, warmth, water, transplanting, trimming . . . again this morning I reflected on how the garden truly does have all the words, the metaphors for life, for our lives, my life. My life is a garden. Is it a ‘Secret Garden’ , a garden tended or left in disarray, a garden to feed soul or body, or both? We are the gardeners of our soul, having been provided with an amazing plot of land to tend.
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