I'm sitting on my bed, curtains open, looking out on the wetness outside cloaked by an overcast sky. I can feel the huge collective sigh emanating from everything out there. The trees seem to be standing taller, the grass is greener, and the garden ... oh, the garden...
I am so tied to my garden. No matter where I am, I feel it. It's as if there's a tether between my garden and me, one I only have to turn my mind to to travel down and transport myself to the peacefulness of it. It's a source of hope ~ when I'm feeling down, I think of it and what I want to do next, picturing how it will look and I will feel when I'm done, and somehow everything feels better.
When it's hot and dry and things are suffering out there, I can't bear it. I suffered right along with it last year. Man, did I suffer. Some people get seasonal affective disorder in the wintertime when the sun doesn't shine. Me, I get it in the summer, when the rain doesn't come. I lose hope that things will ever be other than hot, dry, and miserable.
But now, sitting here basking in the afterglow of two inches of rain that fell last night, I have hope again.
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