I’ve been so very strong about selling my house, downsizing, entering a new chapter of my life, blah blah blah…
This morning I worked in my garden. Â The wisteria and the jasmine are in full bloom. Â There are birds hanging on to branches everywhere and Ethel is stalking a very naive squirrel. Â I’m pulling weeds and pruning roses and raking the gravel in the paths. Â There are pots of flowers and window boxes that need watering. Â I give St. Francis a little cleansing shower as he stands at his post, keeping peace among the wildlife.
I know I should start dis-assembling things in my home. Â I need to start packing and getting my head around it all. Â But this morning in the garden I am mourning. Â Everything is in utter bloom as if to say in the sweetest way they know- goodbye. Â And thank you.
Thank you for releasing lady bugs and dousing us with homemade compost. Â Thank you for knowing what is a weed and what is a wildflower lest we all get pulled in haste. Â Thank you for the great music you play when you are here with us bending and lifting and pulling and gently watering.
And I want to say in return… Â Thank you for being there for me when I was stressed or anxious and nothing would sooth me except being outside with you. Â And thank you for the beautiful canvas you created for all the great parties we’ve had here. Â For my sons’ graduations from high school. Â For our annual birthday theme parties. Â For engagement parties and wedding showers and the random get togethers with friends and family. Â For quiet meditation when I couldn’t sleep at night.
You’ve brought me such peace and tranquility.
And hundreds of plums! Â Oh Lordy! Â Not to mention all the birds, squirrels, raccoons and random neighborhood cats who came to enjoy your beauty.
I will have another garden. Â As much as I bitch and moan about dragging around 20 pound bags of mulch and throwing out my back hoeing stubborn weeds rather than spraying them with roundup, I would not be the woman I am today without you and your unconditional love, your fragrance and your dramatic seasonal whimsy.
You will be the last part of this house that I begin to pack. Â Both literally and figuratively.
I will miss my home and its’ cheerful sunlit rooms. Â But I will miss you more.