It’s easy, when you’ve only just started a garden, to be impatient, knowing that this year’s barebones blooms are only a fraction of what will inevitably become, in the years ahead, too much, too crowded, and maybe even overwhelming. I’m guilty of whispering already, “I can’t wait until next year,” thinking about how the plants will increase in size, the spaces will fill in. But as fall approaches and the weather begins to cool, I remind myself to stop and notice the beauty of the here and now, to celebrate the gifts this garden has bestowed on me already.
This morning, for example, September’s softer morning sunlight filtered through the Mulhy grass that I planted as an experiment, revealing the new, ethereal pink fronds that were promised on the label. I’ve been waiting for them to appear, but might not even have noticed but for the light that set them all aglow. Next year, perhaps, this lovely grass will have to move to another, wider garden edge to make room for the expanding rose beside it, but I’m grateful for the grace and beauty that the two, together, afforded me today.
How hard it is to keep our minds and hearts in the present, instead of leaping forward. How precious are the moments when we succeed.