I love the early morning in my garden. It quiets me, and it energizes me. It opens me to worlds of possibilities.
It’s late summer, the time most of my plants are at their peek. In this lushest month of the year, the lushest time is in the early morning hours before the Louisiana heat melts the blooms back for the day. The daily afternoon rain makes it feel like a hot, humid jungle, and chases me indoors.
There’s a buzzing and almost a shimmer as I watch the bees hover over the vibrant blooms. I watch the bumble bees disappear into the flowers to gulp their goodness. The territorial hummingbirds have stopped by on their migration journey and will fight over the feeders, no matter how many I have hung up. I laugh when they buzz me when I refresh their nectar. They remind me to look at the miraculous, small details that nature gifts us, if we open our eyes to see.
My small garden is not only my haven, it is it’s own world. The hummingbird may not share it’s nectar with it’s own, but it can’t keep the other pollinators and lizards away from the sweet treat. The garden has its ladybugs protecting plants that spiral into life. I hear the frogs full-throated nightly song after a good rain. I see the butterflies flit and flutter, and I’m reminded life’s transitions.
I’m in a season of possibility. I’m newly retired and I’m not sure what this season of my life will bloom into.
The pandemic put me into a creative hibernation. I’m slowly waking up from it. I feel the budding of words that want to be seen. I have seeds of creative ideas that want to grow into something.
My creative journey has taken the retirement off-ramp of the busy work highway. I’m going to meander and see where it takes me. I’m breathing life back into my blog. I’m updating my website. Everything is a work in progress, like my garden. I’ll let you know what seeds I’ve scattered and what takes root and blooms.
Welcome to this season of possibility.