These are the days which try my soul. My countless seeds, so carefully, not-too-deeply planted into soft, ready soil keep me waiting and watching.
Oh, I'm grateful for those eager, early germinators, who poke their tiny leaflets through the dirt almost as soon as they hit the ground. But then there are those more reluctant ones; hedging their bets for more warmth and moisture. Oh, they are too slow!
And then there are those - too many - who simply fall asleep where they lay, and never bother with the seemingly arduous task of germination at all. Why, oh why? Do they not see their potential?
That's only the half of it. I've just returned from yet another morning perusal, and there they are - tiny zinnias and marigolds, bachelor buttons and globe amaranth - leaflets as fragile as air. They seem stuck forever in their infancy.
I have a vision of strong stalks and heavy heads of riotous colors. I see flowers so resilient they bend to our endless winds, but never break and with determination and some mysterious fortitude bear their flowers until frost. How will these pale upstarts ever make it and when? It seems the impossible dream.
Lord, I am too impatient for gardening. If looking could wither, my seedlings would be dead. I'm out there every morning, doing my part. We even had rain this week. Waiting is agony. Instant gratification where art thou?
Oh, I'm grateful for those eager, early germinators, who poke their tiny leaflets through the dirt almost as soon as they hit the ground. But then there are those more reluctant ones; hedging their bets for more warmth and moisture. Oh, they are too slow!
And then there are those - too many - who simply fall asleep where they lay, and never bother with the seemingly arduous task of germination at all. Why, oh why? Do they not see their potential?
That's only the half of it. I've just returned from yet another morning perusal, and there they are - tiny zinnias and marigolds, bachelor buttons and globe amaranth - leaflets as fragile as air. They seem stuck forever in their infancy.
I have a vision of strong stalks and heavy heads of riotous colors. I see flowers so resilient they bend to our endless winds, but never break and with determination and some mysterious fortitude bear their flowers until frost. How will these pale upstarts ever make it and when? It seems the impossible dream.
Lord, I am too impatient for gardening. If looking could wither, my seedlings would be dead. I'm out there every morning, doing my part. We even had rain this week. Waiting is agony. Instant gratification where art thou?
No comments:
Post a Comment