Give to the Growing

As dawn enters, birds look like puppets dancing in the pine branches. How holy this time of day! Gratitude and thankfulness meet no barriers in the cool beginnings of whatever lies ahead.

The garden grows with or without me, yet I tend it constantly, inspecting and fussing over each reaching life. This joy settles the creature that has been pacing wildly outside my door for decades. And I can see now why the absence of gardening separates us from a specific relationship with the land. If this is all there is, would it be enough?

Another trip to Gun Lake. My father is becoming more effusive with me which does not unsettle me a bit. What I'm giving is being returned at this late juncture. Mom asked me if I thought she and Dad demonstrated racist beliefs while we were growing up. I didn't shy away from the answer but my words danced a little in my head before I allowed them to enter the air.

Hiking with Tara but leaving the dog at home. My miles increase as Kora's shrink and it breaks my heart little. Okay, it breaks my heart a lot. She's happy when I return but when she smells the trails on me, she turns away as if she prefers to be alone.

Transplanting ferns, hostas and maybe a few rose bushes. In one way, I love that the work is never done. What else would I do? Daisies are knee high and climbing. The wildflower seeds I planted are not yet growing. But on the hike through the pines, wild daisies lined the path just as the pines gave way to open air. I didn't pick one this time but I made Tara stop to contemplate them. She said I scared her at my exclamation because she thought I was pointing out an animal. She's not a fan. She also doesn't like the tiny the green worms that hang seemingly suspended by air itself over the path. I may delight in her squeamishness a little too much.

Watering twice, morning and night, I think about the scene you described whereby you stand quietly together with her or you talk about the day and your life. The sweetness to that doesn't leave me, despite the longing for something similar. On this end, maybe it is better that I water alone; I can quietly give to the growing as the growing quietly gives to me. I don't know. I really don't.

St. Teresa of Avila, castles, and Mary Magdalene. Who meets me, destroys me and all is well in the world.