All Women Need a Garden

 There’s a woman that sits in the front of her home, nested in her spring garden, re-growing,

in a black wooden chair, faded just right from the eastern morning sun.  

It’s mostly an uncomfortable chair, but a throne for seeing. The rotating guests that come and go to sit next to her make it delightful, a royal meeting place, for all things essential for living. 

There’s a small girl with a bright pink scrunchie loosely attached to her long ponytail, with fierce kindness and conviction in her eyes. She’s magical, whimsical, a garden fairy.  Moments ago she was crying in despair about a hurt feeling. It was gentle conversation she needed, understanding and ice cream. 

Ingredients for carrying on. 

There’s a boy made of dirt and fire, in a green eagles shirt with eye black face paint adorning his perfect, rosy cheeks. He’s lucky and protective, a garden gnome. He sits down, shares his pleasantries and also enjoys a bowl of ice cream. 

Ingredients for carrying on.

There's a light breeze and a perfect temperature. It’s trash night and the things that we set aside are lining the curb. How little we need and how much we use, I contemplate. The ingredients we need are right here, in this tiny garden. 

Time to reflect. 

A space to be understood. 

A vast blue sky to send your dreams and prayers up to.

Ice cream. 

Birds surround us, squeaking with anxiety, as we disturb their work of making nests to prepare for new life. All creatures can share this garden, I want them to know.  All thoughts, needs and dreams for homemaking and regrowing are welcome here.

Perhaps a woman that sits in her garden long enough can see life with such simplicity that she understands all she needs to know in her world. 

All women need a garden,

For carrying on,

And re-growing.