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My Garden of Many Seasons

For many years, this garden knew tiny bare feet running through black-eyed Susans, meandering vines, pincushion flower and petunias. It’s known children’s laughter as my little ones collected seeds from the 4 o’clocks and morning glories.

The paw prints of our beloved fur friends will be forever etched in the soil; all precious reminders of the love they gave and received, which lives on still.

The rich soil has produced summers full of home-grown bounty.

It’s forgiven me when I’ve given it only a glance and nothing more.

It has welcomed me on my broken days like a treasured friend. It’s absorbed my tears when I’ve jabbed angrily at the rocks and roots all clogging the path to new life and brighter days.

It’s been a great source of joy, an open canvass patiently waiting for splashes of color and light.

Today, it’s transformed yet once again. This time, it’s the unfamiliar tracks of a wheelchair that make a path through the gate.




Beginning, middle and the difficult chapters that draw it all to a close.

The breeze that blows now sings of a new song. One of peace. Contentment. Of true appreciation and reflection.

From the withered branch to rebirth, the garden is never without hope and promise.

Each. Precious. Season.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: (Eccl. 3:1)

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