The Joys of Spring
'A garden really lives only in so far as it is an expression of faith, the embodiment of a hope and a song of praise'.
Russell Page, The Education of a Gardener, 1962
The wise quotation above was written a year before my birth and could just as well apply to a life as to a garden. I wrote a piece on my blog 'The Gardening Habit' a few weeks ago which touched on the difficulties of gardening last year - both general and personal. The death of my father in November and the simultaneous invasion of a herd of cows into the garden I had tended to so lovingly all year - and especially in the early autumn months - were certainly low points; not least of which was the portentous dead cow on the lawn. It seemed to symbolise everything: the death of joy, optimism, love and life. We were about to enter the dark days of winter where decay and cold set seemingly endlessly in before warmth, light, new growth and new hope reappear.
The snowdrops herald that first sign of light while emphasising the fragility of the new start. There are still days of setback to be endured where just as things seem to be improving the frost and snow and rain reappear - both metaphorically and physically. As the snowdrops fade the aconites and violas, cyclamen and crocus, primulas and daffodils quietly take over; the viburnums and skimmias soon begin to scent the air and the fingertips of ferns start to gently unfurl. The yellows of kerria and forsythia brighten up dark corners of the garden while bluebells, rhododendrons and gorse bring much needed colour to the woods and hills and dales.
From as early as February, little white lambs start to dot the green fields and sow the seeds of joy in downcast hearts. The spring in their step brings a spring to one's own and a renewed faith in the circle of life and the hope that every new cycle brings.
The last few months have not been easy but, hand in hand with nature, I am starting to feel alive again. With death there is re-birth; with re-birth there is hope; with hope there is love; and where there is love, there is life.
Russell Page, The Education of a Gardener, 1962
The wise quotation above was written a year before my birth and could just as well apply to a life as to a garden. I wrote a piece on my blog 'The Gardening Habit' a few weeks ago which touched on the difficulties of gardening last year - both general and personal. The death of my father in November and the simultaneous invasion of a herd of cows into the garden I had tended to so lovingly all year - and especially in the early autumn months - were certainly low points; not least of which was the portentous dead cow on the lawn. It seemed to symbolise everything: the death of joy, optimism, love and life. We were about to enter the dark days of winter where decay and cold set seemingly endlessly in before warmth, light, new growth and new hope reappear.
The snowdrops herald that first sign of light while emphasising the fragility of the new start. There are still days of setback to be endured where just as things seem to be improving the frost and snow and rain reappear - both metaphorically and physically. As the snowdrops fade the aconites and violas, cyclamen and crocus, primulas and daffodils quietly take over; the viburnums and skimmias soon begin to scent the air and the fingertips of ferns start to gently unfurl. The yellows of kerria and forsythia brighten up dark corners of the garden while bluebells, rhododendrons and gorse bring much needed colour to the woods and hills and dales.
From as early as February, little white lambs start to dot the green fields and sow the seeds of joy in downcast hearts. The spring in their step brings a spring to one's own and a renewed faith in the circle of life and the hope that every new cycle brings.
The last few months have not been easy but, hand in hand with nature, I am starting to feel alive again. With death there is re-birth; with re-birth there is hope; with hope there is love; and where there is love, there is life.
Comments
http://www.middleagedandproudofit.net/