I received a gift from a very good friend whose soul is as free as a butterfly fluttering among the blooms of a garden. The card wrote about having my own garden… my own identity, my own me.
I really don’t know the how-to in growing a garden. Where does one start recreating oneself? As new beginnings are ahead, we listen to what we want as we follow our hearts, where the strength of an impulse all began…
And I am here right now. Not stuck; only here. And I believe I can begin my garden wherever I may be. Standing on earthen surfaces, I reflect on the shedding of my old wings, old seasonal blossoms that spurts out from time to time, dried leaves from a struggling vine yet perennially growing. Raking them up in a pile, not certain of what to do.
I feel the wind brush all around me, purposely drifting pollens that I may cultivate… butterflies that roam about seeking for the sweet nectar my spirit holds, spreading it wide in my garden… showers from the clouds to let me dance with the raindrops as the rhythm beats into a thunderous sound… and the rays from the sky to bring hope, warmth, and light onto my ground.
The buds begin to appear filling my haven with rainbow colours. The freshness and greenness of the vine crawls around, securing, yet inviting to the touch.
I gather the shedding, the old blossoms, and the dried leaves. Using them to help my new garden grow and flourish even more. Some I have kept in a vessel, using time as a friend, pouring fragrant oil collected from the new petals… and scattering them around as I bounce and twirl… potpourri everywhere… … …
There is never a need to throw away the past. We can always use them to better the present. It’s a sweet-scented gift to ourselves.
We can not change our yesterdays. We can only change ourselves now.
Happy new changes,