So here is the gist of it. I walked around my yard today ... and cried. Not the bawling, face splattering kind of tear-struck emotional outpouring, but a gentle welling up of the soul via tear ducts. You see, this yard project sprung up out of a time of great pain, personal sacrifice, and loss. In the design and planting of it, I knew that my yard's blooming would also mark the period of time that I took to heal, regroup, and redirect my life. Seeing the tangible fruition of my labors took my breath away. There is still much to be grown, for both of us -- my yard and me -- but what I see already is so beautiful. It is not that the outward beauty has reached its zenith, but more the visual proof and showing that everything has found its place. I have 100% success with my transplants, all of which are sporting new sprouts, first flowers, and new shoots. The birds and bees are humming and squirrels are making merry. One variety of hostas all came back in my shade garden! I thought between my efforts to pull them out and the rabbits ravenous eating habits that they were all but done for and yet, I stand surprised and gape-mouthed at the six survivors. There are roses, azaleas, laurels, spider lilies, bridal wreaths, jasmine and berries.
Most importantly, pink abounds. Pink, the symbol of everything I have considered weak, vulnerable and therefore "less-than" has triumphed in my yard. Slowly and steadily, she has claimed her stake and in so doing taught me a lesson about myself. Pink has re-gifted me my vulnerability in this new package that I can marvel in and cherish. Pink is the color of our insides, our guts. It is what makes us go, yet I spent years eradicating this color of health and vitality from my life. It seems so silly now, as if the very flowers are laughing at me and saying "I told you so."
Stemming with gratitude today,
Yours,
MB Disco
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