It started with a small patch behind the house, barely large enough to hold few assorted plants and herbs. Breaking through the hardened clay was no small task, particularly given the state of my garden tools – worn and rusted with sharpened splinters at the ‘mast’. I spent hours drenched in the sweat of the summer heat, my muscles stinging with the pain of pride and overuse. And yet, something still compelled its birth – on that godawful stretch of day when there seemed nothing better to do.

In time, the garden grew. At first some vegetables along the back of the fence and a ground cover my mother gifted me from home. One year, the hummingbirds came to perch behind the bearded irises. They were intent on staying, seeing before them the promise of potential – even though there was still much work yet to be done. Perhaps they understood what others failed to see – with patience, love and nurturing all things must thrive. Even this muddied mess…in its own way, was evidence of a much greater wholeness.

It’s the inescapable draw of the universe; from wishes to hopes and finally onto fruition. What we believe shapes the course of our lives – embracing us within the soft light of possibility. What we do and how we choose to engage, helps redefine our direction. Like a sail raised in the darkest pitch of night, it will always find its source in the time and the manner it was intended to be…

As if it had always been known…our destiny.

The garden now serves as a source of inspiration. Neighbors, friends and passing stranger all stopping to pause…to reflect on the feat of its creation.