Unfettered grinning

Each morning I take a walk.  Except for this morning.  Hobbled by a messed-up toe (long and clumsy story), I took a small meander down to the compost bin in the vegetable garden.  I stirred it a bit, a world teeming with worms, a journey from food scraps to black gold.  I love the feel of dirt in my hands, and this newly composted soil is sweet to the smell, and pure nutrient to garden beds.  I took pleasure in the fact that to any passerby, I would have looked a good bit loopy, standing there on late winter morning, giddy and undone by fresh dirt.

I know that it is not spring. . .officially.  But these first days when one can work comfortably in the garden–without a winter coat–are holy days indeed.  Or at the very least, days for reflection and gratitude.  This I know: the catharsis is absolute and cleansing.

I mark my calendar by the blooming of the dwarf Iris “Reticulata,” diminutive (maybe 3 inches in height), elegant and easily overlooked in a garden bed still overrun with the debris from last summer’s bully (Rudbeckia).  Here’s my favorite part–every year, I’m always “surprised” when I see the lavender blooms, and stop whatever I’m doing, and give myself over to a “spell of unfettered grinning,” And the other stuff crowding my mind and clambering for attention, moves to the background for a little while.

All of this from a little flower.  Go figure.

Connection with gardens, even small ones, even potted plants, can become windows to the inner life.  The simple act of stopping and looking at the beauty around us can be prayer.
Patricia Barrett

(A reminder–you can join me for a garden retreat in the desert.  March 11-13, in Scottsdale, Arizona at the Franciscan Renewal Center.)