Filled – and all the Seasons

The first signs of spring began a couple of weeks ago and I’ve decided to plant a garden again this year. I close my eyes and can smell the dirt of gardens past. I can feel the muscles of my shoulders shrieking at the memory of so many rows of weeds. Memories can feel like loss, like grief, like heartbreak, like failure. The mere thought of starting a garden – just making a to-do list – creeps into my throat and unasked for, unexplainable tears stream down my face. I’m not sad, not really, but my body feels a familiar longing for maybe a part of me I lost somewhere along the way. Tears of grief, but tears also of joy. This is almost overwhelming and I nearly put aside the project for another year.

I push through this surprising  sadness and continue to plan. Then, as a full list, and as detailed drawings become the plans for my garden, the war between my heart, mind, and body becomes more violent.

Today’s I’m writing over at the Mudroom about gardening and Lent, and Psalm 126. Join me: