Falling on the Ground
The garden is calling me to do some work this morning, but first, I need to lay back on the dry winter grass that is beginning to awaken in the warmth of spring. A little bit of green peeks through the soft golden mat that surrounds me. The characteristic lime-colored tufts are coaxed to the surface by unseasonably warm temperatures. Stretching my full body so every inch contacts the earth energizes my cells; a healing massage that reminds me to rest here more often.
Overhead, fair-weather clouds dance in the wind currents, morphing into myriad shapes. I am mesmerized by delicate feathers, swirling vortices, and textured patterns like those left in beach sand from wave action. Everything is in motion; vapor art cannot be held static on a canvas. Butterflies and other pollinators mirror the dance and swirl of clouds. I wonder if the insects know most flowers are still far behind this early spring in winter. I hope they can find enough nectar and pollen.
The other day, when we were browsing through the garden center at a local store, a hummingbird hawk-moth, also called the white-lined sphinx, hovered around the domesticated flowers in search of nectar. I’ve never seen one of this moth species out and about so early, and never in a garden center. I hope there is something in this sea of hybridized flora to sustain it until the natural plants the moth favors begin to set their blooms.
Back in our garden, I am finally roused upright by the urge to dig and aerate the soil to allow new roots some space to grow. My plant friends seem to exhale a silent thank you. We have a forest of columbine that seems to welcome a little loving care. Tarn transplants a few individuals that are a bit too cozy for breathing room, and we humbly ask the other plants what they want, hoping we have the ears to hear.
I think every human should fall down once in a while, take a position of humility, and view nature at ground level. It is a different perspective, and it situates us in a good place to listen to the earth and her inhabitants we often ignore. We are all gardeners in some form, but we have to get a little dirty to make sense of that skill. We come from the earth and it is where we return. Maybe we could become better listeners in between.