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In the distance, likely by a still unseen and unheard creek, comes the sound of tiny spring peeper frogs loudly proclaiming the season by trilling their salmon-pink throats.
On the air is the fading smell of winter: wood stoves, crisp snow, and hot chocolate. Quickly replacing it are the floral perfumes that for some, cause them to check their spring allergy supplies. Fruit trees are blossoming, forsythia bushes bursting forth in bright yellows, and new leaves are on all the trees.
A visit to the gardening center to check off this weekend's do-do-to-do list, and stopping to see if I can find an old wrought iron gate at an antique shop to use for new climbing roses I want to plant.
I have abandoned all hope of finishing projects inside the house that didn't get done this winter. I'm no longer immune to the fresh air and sunshine outside my office window.
The Earth is a temple to be cared for and loved. Feeling her heartbeat in my hands as I dig in the soil to plant love, ministering to her children: the birds, bees, butterflies, and animals with the flowers, trees, fruits, and vegetables I plant. Knowing that I am willing to sacrifice a tenth of the harvest for their care. I dress in the habit of my faith for her ... old shoes, worn jeans, a lightweight, long-sleeved shirt, and a floppy hat to protect my skin from the sun ... and prepare to sing her praises.
A most beautiful story. The first rule was to tend the Garden, and we need to do a better job.
ReplyDeleteagreed! and thank you!
DeleteThis is really beautiful, thank you.
ReplyDelete:-) thank you!
DeleteSuperb use of the prompts and perfect for the season.
ReplyDeletethank you bunches!
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