Tamara Willems

always my Gratitude

Greetings to you this day,
beauteous in it’s offering
sunshine streams and billowing breezes.
A deep inhale … a conscious opening of the senses, and I step out into my world of wonder and beauty.
To eyes, green, green and green, there are many luscious hues and textures to behold at first viewing.
I do so love the spring renewal, the searching, daily discoveries popping up fresh and fragile
familiar old faces of forgotten plantings,
cameo appearances, some surprising and new
gifts to me secretly placed by squirrels and birds, keeping my gardens very much alive and ever changing.
Everywhere maple keys are gracefully pirouetting to earth. Tiny helicopters searching for landing.
Snowballs are beginning their transition from hints of green to glorious white.
Phlox are just now starting to get their turn on the big stage.
Blossoms on the fruit trees, currants, raspberries and friends are now giving way to burgeoning fruit.
Also there comes a little hint of heartache to the sensitive soul, enforcing my connection to the world.
The scent of lilac slowly starts to fade, purples changing to browns, I can almost feel it slipping away.
The surface of the pond reflects a million dancing lights on the branches above,
presented by the constant scurry of tadpoles, swishing about.
I watch them and silently will each of them a safe journey from tails to legs to full grown toad-hood,
with a mild sadness that in doing so, this will encourage a safe exiting from my watchful eyes.
The deemed ‘necessary’ removal of a shrub who has taken more than his fair share of a space designated for the fairer of the species, pains me. I find I can’t watch as my husband clips and chops you into extinction. Redeeming himself, he is being most careful not to displace two spiders who have made their home on faded tulip stems just underneath.
I find it hard to rip anything out that has offered it’s delicate beauty to my menagerie. I am not a conventional gardener.
Wild, woolly and rambling .. you are welcome here.
Nests are still being prepared, even as in others, the brave, or possibly foolish are now already taking their leave.
Billy the Bird he’s been named, just three days ago was rescued from the pond, shaking and wobbly, drenched, clinging to his very young life. We set him aside in a safe spot, hoping we had reached him in time and watched carefully to make sure Mother found him. Which she did, and then we let them be. Today he appeared in the tree , Mother still close by, strength in his new wings, steadier on his feet. I expect, he too will soon fly away, another small victory of the heart.
There is budding, there is beauty, there is fading, and there is loss.
It expands and grows, renews and rejoices with ever changing wonder,
and Gratitude,
always my Gratitude


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