There is an indescribable something about being out in my garden that liberates my mind from the circular redundancy of habitual thought patterns. I find here a priceless freedom from the confines of self awareness and become instead conscious of something far grander and far more spacious than mere self.
There is some strange alchemy that accrues as I contemplate the tender green shouts of long dormant plants emerging from the dark prison of winter dormancy.
Every new leaf unfolding to the touch of the sun is nothing short of a miracle. On warm nights I sit out here and listen to the whispering sound of earth worms moving the covering of last years leaf debris and converting it into newly enriched soil where seeds can germinate, grow and bear fruit.
I am finished now with the prison of four walls. I will live my life now in this burgeoning garden, this citadel of miracles. I shall kneel among the April violets in order to become inebriated by their fragrances. I shall remain so still that I will hear the blue bells call to the fairy folk at midnight. I will search for and create words to describe the colors of the dawn and I shall set on my swing and create new songs myself.
This house that shelters me through the bitter winds of winter may wonder where I am, but it will want my returning. For now I spend my time welcoming the returning birds, recalling the name of every flower that grows and being entertained by a trio of squirrels. I shall spend so much time here in the garden the neighbors will begin to think I am one of those garden gnomes and whose to say that I’m not.