The Garden

This garden tells me about remembering and forgetting, offers a deep awareness of the present time,

 the delight of what ever beauty’s there now, at this hour,

 in this season, and asks my fickle mind not to grasp on to

what I think is  mine.

 

This garden teaches me to love

 each visitor bird, each  bud and flower,  and all the flowering weeds.

 Shows me how I hold on to wanting things to stay the same; reveals my gratitude,

 my longing and my greed.

 

Tells me not to rush, with always the next thing on my mind, from task to task.

But to be here and now in this very moment

 and in this present trance; and bask.

 Absorbed by blue bells, lily of the valley, the incandescent heads of dandelions,

 the rounded greening elderflowers that will soon be creamy white;

 the blooming into life of what we’ve planted; the warm and golden sun upon my back.

The garden offers me my gratitude, that I am dumb to, when I rush and scurry;

 and whispers to me  as the day goes on,  ‘My dearest what’s the hurry?’

 

Shows me how I must move with in the pulse of life,

 and not resist the pull of sadness when the flowers fade,

 that I must remember to be tender,

 and re learn to surrender

 to

 

what is.

 

 

 

©  Ingrid Andrew<>HeartsSong

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