All the Flowers of Spring

Usually around this time of year I start to panic, look around and wonder where everything went? Where are the flowers, where is the order, how am I ever going to dig myself out of the mountain of debris that becomes the fall garden. This is when I find it useful to revisit pictures from seasons past and wax nostalgic over the dewy roses and the cheerful daffodils and the overabundance of violets.
I hold on to the flowers of spring.

Gardens have the magnificent privilege of reinventing themselves every year, which is why you always see them with fresh eyes and you don’t realize how old they really are. The oldest garden still in existence dates from the fifth century.

I looked through the pictures from previous years where no two seasons are the same, and yet the spirit of this collective living entity shines through, a very familiar presence and one that had become so dear to me over the years.

After fawning over the beautiful pictures I accidentally glance through the windows at the chaos outside and the lizard brain returns to panic mode, useless, as always, to test whether the garden is blooming less and less with each passing spring, to question whether the flowers are less beautiful, and to waste my time.

The garden is and it always will be beautiful and I love it with all my heart just the way it is.