Watching Sleepless In Seattle for the umpteenth time.
Far From the Madding Crowd,
This morning for the first time for an age the rain has stopped lashing down
and the gale wind has dropped.
The sun is out,
so of course I am off into the garden to put washing on the line.
As I scan the borders noting the premature signs of spring, as well as the storm damage
I spot the hardy celandines returning,
despite my best efforts to root them out each year.
I love to see their shining faces in the woodlands and hedgerows.
In the garden though, they form close knit rafts
overwhelming everything in their path;
weaving themselves into roots of perennials and shrubs alike,
so there is nothing else to do but dig everything up and separate them out-
and then replant.
Hard work, and increasingly, more than I can do.
Before I knew it I had my fingers into the cold wet muddy earth,
wheedling down the white thread-like stems to the root,
then cupping them out between my fingers, little balls of earth and all.
Strangely, even as I did so,
I was filled with wonder and respect at the resilience of life that pushes up,
again and again.
There in the cold mud my heart sang to the source of life.
You who I know as Life,
never turning away,
but seeking always new ways to break out
and show yourself;
filling all created things with an expression of yourself
and calling forth the new in every moment,
fill us with such a force of life we cannot hold it in,
growing strong in the true and pure proclamation of you
we are uniquely made to be,
even in our suffering, brokenness, ambition, and frailty.