Gardening Day
Today was gardening day. The sky was blue over my head, the clouds only soft whisps. There was no thunder in the distance, no, it rattled in my chest. An internal storm demanding to be felt. I stood out there, in my garden, glaring at the weeds as if the look on my face were powerful enough to reduce them to ash. Alas, they stayed standing tall, reaching for the sun, pretending to be the purposeful plants they had invaded.
The thunder in my chest turned into a wail and I could no longer look at these hideous weeds stealing the life from my beautiful garden. With a breath that didn’t quite fill my lungs, I marched over to an offending intruder, dug my fingers into the dirt, and gripped the root. It had apparently been there for quite a long time, because with the first pull, it barely gave an inch.
Tears began to stream down my face, my pulse hammering against my ribs in frustrated irritation. A fierce scream ripped from my throat so forcefully, that it caused nature to tremble and flee. The roots of the weed desperately tried to escape my fingers, as I continued to pull with all of my might.
My scream faded, and echoed through the forest, just beyond the garden. My body sagged in defeat under the weight of my failure. I released the weed, and with the back of my hand I wiped my tear stained cheeks, smudging my face with dirt. I looked at my hands, and a laugh burst forth; half hysteria and half surrender. The laugh turned into sobs and my heart ached for the image of my garden that I could see but not yet touch.
The wind kicked up a soft cool breeze, and it filled my lungs with hope. I savored the air and let it dry the mud on my skin; a renewed determination softly rising in my battered chest. With a deep trembling breath, I once again dug my hands into the dirt, and with a gentle twist and pull of my hand… it lifted out of the earth.
With every ounce of me exhausted, I settled back on my heels, closed my eyes, and clutched the weed to my chest. I felt an odd sense of love for the weed, a stubborn plant that just… lived. Once upon a time, I had abandoned this spot, and it decided to make a home out of it. I have since taken it back and in my haste to plant new seeds, I must have missed its presence among the mulch. So, I offered it my gratitude, thanking it for holding this space in my garden that I can now fill with something I want for myself.
The storm in my chest, having passed, allowed my heart to settle into an even peaceful rhythm. The weed in my hand, now droopy and fading, almost looked as if it were sighing; a final breath of acceptance and release. I looked at the hole left behind in the dirt, thinking of what I could plant in there now…
It’s been thirty minutes, and I’m still not quite sure what the perfect seed or bulb for this spot is. But, I know that whatever it is, it’s roots will be strong.
