And Then There Was Light

I've neglected gardening on our creek bank for the past two years because I was really pissed that our gorgeous, gigantic poplar tree, under which I planted 100 daffodils, fell over into the creek leaving us with an ugly rootball.

Apparently I can hold a grudge for a long time.

As we all know, Nature abhors a vacuum and in that short two years salmon berry, laurel, horsetails, blackberries and God-knows-what ran rampant on the bank. I'm not sure why I was motivated to get in there and clean it all out, but I was shocked at what I found.

Several sad, half-dead hostas, puny pulmonaria and struggling astilbe that were ready to die. All for lack of light--because of my lack of care. Neglected.

Here's my spiritual lesson in this: if I don't take care of That which is blocking out the Light, That will simply continue to grow and block it out. Then I'm stuck having to a do a lot of painful (blackberries, remember) and time consuming work.

This has happened in one of my relationships where I've been too chicken to speak up and I just let things slide. One in particular was nearly dead from not tackling Light-blocking issues. Now we are working hard to save the friendship.

Seattle had two, count 'em TWO amazing days of sun during which I did all this yard work. But I can't wait until it's sunny and I feel inspired.

I must tend my garden all the time, vigilant against crowding by weeds, lack of Light or lack of water.

I stand corrected.