Tending to my Garden

I turned to gardening in one of the most tumultuous seasons of my life. It allowed me to be outdoors, get some vitamin D, tend to something other than myself. It allowed me to escape for just a little bit, and nurture something other than the issues I had been dwelling on.

Between spring and summer, I purchased new pots, soil, and seeds. I rejoiced as I saw some greenery protruding and flourishing from their pots. I had to pivot when some were getting too brutalized from the water I was providing for them, or the blazing sun.

Every week, it seemed as though my plants needed something new: kinda like me. I loved waking up barefoot to go water my plants in the morning. Late in the evenings, before the sun would set, I’d do the same. That allowed me to experience cooler temperatures, and for two seconds reflect on what I’d hope the day would be, or what it had been.

But now we are in a new season. Autumn. And the same greenery that blossomed are withering away to a dry crunch. Some I can move indoors, some I cannot. I deemed the latter a loss. Until I realized that that they are most certainly not.

They served their purpose. I cannot salvage all of them, nor is it my responsibility to. And perhaps I was not meant to. What they did for me in the previous season was not meant to be what they do for me in this one.

So, I prune.

What looks hopeful, I bring indoors to join me in this new season, where I will most likely need something new. And that’s okay. I can be as fickle as my plants.

The rest, I bid them farewell. Knowing they served their purpose in the old season. I had no idea that tending to my garden would speak so much to me. But it has. I am walking in the new.