Awakening From Hibernation

Sakura of Fukushima-e (福島江のサクラ)

Ahh, February. It’s not quite spring but we are well over winter. In the south, the trees and flowers are jut beginning to stir. The first signs of the cherry blossoms have appeared. The daffodils are letting their yellow undercoats peek out at the tepid sun. Tree branches are rounded with the soft buds of the new leaves. The stirrings are not limited to the plants. Joggers are beginning to fill the trails, especially on those days between cold and rain fronts. The squirrels are out in force, digging up the acorns they buried months ago. The birds have lifted their self-imposed ban on song and their chirps and warbles fill the mornings once again.

It’s natural to hibernate when the world outside becomes too harsh to bear. It’s instinctive to curl up and tuck in, settling into a protective stasis. We do it annually to some extent as we follow the natural rhythms of shorter days and colder nights. We tend to narrow our worlds in the winter, paring back and slowing down. It is a time of restoration.

That contraction is countered by the expansion that occurs each spring, as we expand our reach along with the increasing hours in a day. It’s an instinctive cycle, an inhalation and exhalation on a broad scale. We are not unlike the flowers in our balance of growth and rest.

And, just like the blossoms, we can have our rhythm disturbed. A sudden late freeze will send the plants into shock, causing them to die back and halt their growth until they feel like it’s safe to peek their petals out again. A sudden shock can just as easily cause us to slow and even stop. Parts of us can die, turning withered and black. It can lead to a period of hibernation as the body and mind turn inward. The body slows, the appetite decreases and the brain becomes sluggish.

It’s a natural response to a sudden freeze where the world becomes inhospitable and fierce. Don’t try to resist the natural cycles – you’ll lose. Be with it; ride it out. Curl up and hide but don’t forget to look outside for the first signs of spring and allow yourself to spread and grow as the sun’s first warmth touches you again.

The flowers never let the risk of a late freeze keep them from showing their beauty. Why should you?

English: Daffodils at Hareby A close-up of the...

The Beauty of a Summer Garden is in Its Abundance

 

The beauty of a summer garden is found in its abundance.  The welcoming sunshine and needed rain uniting to provide the ideal conditions for growth.  Beds become a beautiful, riotous mess even under the watchful eyes of trained gardeners and hundreds of volunteers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They refuse to follow the rules and color within the lines; instead their reach extends into walkways, obscuring the path.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The eye dances along the woven green tapestries formed by the intertwining stems.  Their bold blooms fight for attention and resist being reigned in.  These are not flowers to be controlled, to be clipped and tucked into proper arrangements.  Rather, these are blossoms of pure, unbridled exuberance.

There are seasons in our lives that are like a summer garden.  Times when our moments are filled with new ideas, new experiences, and new relationships.  Celebrate the abundance in those seasons.  Revel in the new growth.  Don’t be concerned when your path is obscured.  It will be revealed in time.  Don’t worry that the garden bed of your life is becoming too full.  There is time enough for pruning later.  Do not fret if your mind’s eye has trouble settling on a single bloom.  Rather, let it explore the interconnectedness of your sprouting life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stand tall among your summer blooms and enjoy the beauty of its abundance.

The Beauty of an Early Spring Garden is in the Details

Winter Does Not Have to Mean Discontent

The end of a marriage reminds me of a winter landscape.  All is laid bare.  The adornments and filigree are gone, leaving the structure exposed to the biting wind.  Its beauty is found in perspective.  In appreciating the rough nature of the bark, showing its scars and wear.  In gazing at the complexity of the interconnected branches in wonder.  In seeing the potential in every limb, every bud.  In imagining the new growth, just barely hidden below the surface, that will be revealed by the touch of the warm sun.

The winter of a marriage is also a time for viewing the underneath, what is left when all the distractions are stripped away.  It is a time to see yourself, your marriage, as it is, not as it may appear.  It is also a time to daydream about what can be and what can grow.

I spent most of the winters of my married days analyzing my garden (actually a barely-tamed almost acre plot) and pouring over flower catalogs, dreaming of the beauty I could create the following spring.  I spent the winter of my marriage examining the structure of my relationship and imagining the life I wanted when the sun began to shine again.  Too bad they don’t make life catalogs where you can peruse and select the elements you want!