The garden soil lies silently. Impatiently. Its cycle of plant, grow, and yield is temporarily suspended.
Looking at Mother Nature, the ground whispers, “What should I do now?”
“Just Be,” she answers.
“That’s going to be very difficult after my years of toil,” the soil replies.
Mother Nature smiles. “I know.”
The ground breathes deeply.
“Over the next year,” Mother Nature says, “I will send the sun to warm your heart, the moon to watch over you, the rains to sing lullabies, and the snow to blanket you.”
“But then what?” the soil asks. “I’d like to know.”
“Hush and don’t worry,” she says as she turns to go. “In time, tiny seeds will fall into your contours, tucking away in your recesses. They will sprout and a new garden, different from anything you’ve ever seen before, will flourish where the old once grew.”
The earth smiles and settles into its cleared space to just be, as it waits and wonders what will blossom.
© Lynn Wyvill 2012