Everywhere I look there's something else to be done in the yard. Raking the leaves I didn't get to last fall. Redefining outdoor spaces so I can enjoy coffee in the morning sun, lunch in gentle shade and star gazing at night. Pruning and weeding out the overgrown. Planting seeds in hope of fresh grown vegetables.
I've owned this property for over 20 years now, and I'm afraid I haven't done much to improve it. Deer have all but decimated the beautifully shaped juniper at the front door. As well as the old roses and lilies. The fence that protected the bee balm and blackberry last year finally came down in a tangle.
But, there is progress. I freed two old wire fences from the tangle of thorns in the now abundant wild roses, and plan to reuse them for the protection of lettuce. And I see signs of the lilies' return in a fenced off patch. Old cement blocks I've moved every year from one pile to another, are finally neatly stacked to create two seats under the magnolia where I can rest in dream between leaf raking relays.
The lilacs are a promise away from blooming. So too is the bridal wreath and magnolia. And I know that somewhere under the matted leaves, poison ivy is waiting, hoping to catch me off guard.
But right now, there is nothing to do, precisely because there is too much to do. And the gift of being overwhelmed with it all, is taking a step back, taking a day off, watching the breeze in the pine needles and listening to the not so distant trickle of water running down the hill into the swamp that could be dredged into a pond. If only there wasn't so much else to do. And not do.
May your day be filled with the Magic Medicine of doing nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment