I’ve taken my computer with me on the deck, settled myself into a nice sunny spot with a pot of dragonswell tea, and then I noticed the sound.
Sure, there are many sounds happening simultaneously, yet, when I block out the traffic passing and the sounds of the kindergarteners playing next door, I hear nature. In that quiet moment that comes while sipping tea, I block out the extraneous noise and I hear the birds chirping, I hear the woodpecker knocking a tintinnabulation on the black locust above me, I hear the susurrous of wind through the leaves of the lilac trees, and then I hear the plants themselves. I hear the plants in pots around me, I hear them soaking in the water that I just gave them, I hear the insects and the roots moving in the soil, that little cracking, popping sound that one can also hear while walking in the woods after a nice rain. It’s subtle though, once I realize I hear it, it all but drowns out the passing cars and the children’s laughter. That quiet sound of nature at work becomes the loudest thing I hear.
As I take another sip of tea, I invite back the other sounds around me — the wind chimes, the birds, squirrels scampering along branches, the children playing next door — and I am grateful for my little patch of paradise in the middle of the city. I am so fortunate to have this block of earth, this little oasis of peace. Certainly, it takes lots of work and attention, time that I’m more than happy to give. I love every precious moment I spend out here. There is always something to do in the garden and it always fulfills me. Every haul of soil, every lifted rock, every weed pulled, and seed planted brings me joy. My garden provides me enchanting scents, amazing colors, delicious tastes, and invites all manner of creatures that entertain me.
I reach over and pinch a bud of new oregano growth from the pot beside me. The flavor is strong and there is enough new growth to harvest and dry for long rainy winters filled with warm Italian dishes. All the work and attention of three seasons continues to reward me all year. Even in the darkest and dreariest of winter days I pull my jars of dried herbs from the cupboard and I’m whisked away to sunny mornings watering and harvesting. It’s nutrition for body and soul and I am grateful.
Laugh with abandon,