“The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth
you are nearer God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth.“
The Thrift of Gardening as Therapy.
Gardening is the cheapest and best therapy for the stressed or saddened soul, it has a way of earthing and anchoring one back to their centre and creator. This is not to mention the beauty of gardening or the satisfaction of home grown produce. It is also moderate exercise and provides the daily dose of vitamin D which is extremely important for mental and emotional health as well as healthy bones and muscle. So it is no surprise that I keep being drawn back to digging in the earth and getting my hands dirty.
I approach gardening like almost everything else in life, on a budget, working toward the highest return for the least financial outlay but with a lot of love. One of my life mottoes is Everything in life reflects the amount of love it is given. This is a truism from fingernails to Ferraris. Love – a verb – is a doing thing and is reflected in the time and energy invested in that which is held dear.
At the present being in the garden is wonderful; the weather is beautiful, the sunshine mild, the skies blue and everywhere there are butterflies. All colours of dancing butterflies, orange and black, blue and black, black and white, plain white, large black ones and plain yellow ones. They are a delight to watch but very difficult to capture in photograph.
We are going to start with a little butterfly poetry, which in its own way is appropriate to the current situation for I think we feel we are presently cocooning away and wondering what and how life might be when we can all come out again.
Metamorphosis: a poem by Estelle D. copyright: 1996
Pretty Butterfly, flutter by on coloured wing,
Dancing on the breeze, all around without a sound,
What delight you now bring,
But who would know that in another life you had no wings to show?
That these you had to grow.
In your changes was there pain? Did you know what you would gain?
In your darkness wrapped away, did you think this way you’d stay?
Did you feel that you would die before you became a butterfly?
Robbed of life as you had known, for as a caterpillar you had grown
amongst beautiful flower and leaf, only now to know loss and grief.
But for all of this there was a plan, not conceived by mortal man,
In order to transform, one must die to be reborn.
So if you feel like you could die but inside yearn to take wing and fly,
To be free and touch the sky, to travel on the road that’s high,
Remember after night will come the dawn,
And you will wake one shining morn, to find that after all you did not die,
But were transformed from caterpillar to Butterfly.
3 replies to “The Shift to Thrift.”
Thanks David. Just sitting down to write another post. Thank you fro reading.
I remember when you wrote this poem, and I truly believe it has gotten even better with age! Love xxx