To the garden I go.
I hose the tiny chunky maple tree debris from the pathway. I am barefoot, you see.
Then, on tippy toes, I sniff the delicate brand-new white pear blossoms. Again. And again.
I bend down in search of new growth on a plant Cassie gave me. Minuscule, but there they are, green sprouts!
I lay my hand over the largest lemon leaf - the size of my entire palm - kind of a gentle high five to the Queen of my garden. I spy a few lemons coming along, and several clusters of still tightly enfolded new blossoms.
Over to the herbs I meander to stand on the cobble stones.
Yoga.
There amidst the new oregano and sage, thyme and chives, lavender and strawberry plants my outstretched arms pump cool fresh air into my lungs.
Under a clear blue sky.
The herbal aroma surrounds my body and fills my nose with its glory.
Honey-scents of neighborhood trees add their perfume.
"Heaven will be like this. I'm sure of it. A garden in spring, full of promise and new life. And God will gift me my own corner of the garden to tend. And I will be eternally satisfied, especially when Jesus wanders in. With my parents. And grandparents. And everyone I miss."
What a blessing is a garden - for the soul.
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