THE LITTLE MEADOW
By Bobbi Rightmyer
(Photo copyright Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)
The meadow is my favorite place to be alone with my thoughts. Although it is only one acre of land - and positioned in my backyard - you would not think of this as a perfect spot, but to me it is.
From the first green life of early spring to the hot, dry days of summer, on into the golden days of autumn and the frigid cold nights of winter - my meadow is a place of solitude. Like Superman's Fortress of Solitude, I enter my meadow to rummage through my thoughts, take shape of my emotions and figure out my plans for the future.
For the past few years, I've neglected my poor little meadow - grief has overshadowed my every waking hour. But this year I have renewed hope and a renewed spirit for life, so I have grand ideas for a renewed garden.
However, upon closer inspection of my little meadow, I've noticed a curious thing. My meadow has gone on without me. Oh, it may not be as well-kept as when I'm lending a hand, but the plants have thrived and thrown themselves willy-nilly to the wind. What a wonderful surprise to see the daisies have multiplied, the asters are spreading, the sedum has grown large and the trees are persevering.
Maybe my little meadow doesn't need me as much as I need her; like my children, she has grown strong and wise. Maybe all my little meadow needs is a gentle, helping hand to lead her on the right path.
As I lounge under the fragrant blossoms of honeysuckle, I marvel at the beauty of this little slice of heaven. Even in the early throes of spring, I can see the delicate architecture of Mother Nature's handiwork.