5:40 Am. Sitting on the back porch looking at the empty wooden planter tub where just yesterday C planted 6 new California Poppy plants. Manna had a better idea; pull them all out with her teeth and deposit the chewed remnants at the back door. How proud she must have been! C was not amused."But just think," I said with tongue in cheek, "what joy she must have felt in that." This did not appease the situation.
This reminds me that we are all constantly planting things along the road of our lives in the hope of something better taking root. We plant our dreams in a soil turned with hope, under a sun we look to expectantly to keep the seed warm and full of life. We raise children within the garden of our own keeping, nurturing and watering with both tears of joy as well as tears generated by unexpected storms.
Planting the saplings of forgiveness in hope of a larger tree built on trust. Planting seeds painted with the glow of love and celebration that blow in on the wind and happen to catch upon our sleeve, as well as those that come to us dark and unaware, slipping through under the door and accumulating in some corner of the room. These we may not know of their genesis, but we will plant them anyway in the optimistic take we have on life, that all must ultimately bear good fruit.
And yet, with all that, as Manna so ably demonstrated, we can do all with such good intentions, but our own visions of tubs full of golden flowers can be interupted so easily. I think today I will surprise C and go to the nursery and buy replacements, plant them and keep Manna at bay. Then, for sure they will be the ones we were intended to enjoy. The patchwork of golden light from the kitchen window that spilled out on the deck is starting to fade now with the new sun. Best to take Manna in for breakfast.