Not by any stretch of the imagination can I be called good at gardening. Due to some unpleasant experiences during my childhood I have strong negative feelings associated with gardening. The result is, sadly, rather predictable. My poor garden, although not very big, suffers from a serious case of neglect. The weeds are taking over. Some of the shrubs have died. Others are severely overgrown.

Not being much of an outdoors person, I don’t go into this garden very often. On the rare occasion that I do venture into my garden, the sight of all the weeds investing the lily patch, would produce feelings of anxiety and guilt. And usually that is enough to drive me back indoor to my books and the other things with which I color my life.

There are however, those other times. I would be lures to my garden by a glimpse of color that I noticed through the window. In the garden I would then discover that the Azaleas, or the Pride-of-India suddenly burst into flowers.

It is as if my garden is sending me this message: “It’s OK. We understand. And don’t worry. In nature, where we all came from, none but the elements tend to us and still we thrive.” Then I don’t notice the weeds or the overgrown parts or even the dead shrubs. I just see a bit of a blessing. For once I can turn around with a happy heart when I leave the garden.

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