Gardens are made for lingering. Color, aroma, and the cycle of life evolve right before my eyes — sometimes slowly and incrementally, other times annoyingly fast, like a pesky, hungry, hunter of a mosquito buzzing around my face with its proboscus set for my juicy upper arm.
Then I don’t linger.
Most of the time, the paths that I carved out and created in my not-quite-an-acre-world, command me to slow down. My garden asks me to pause, consider, drift, and linger.
And I do. With my body, with a camera, with my love.
A garden is the best lingering venue. Sitting. Kneeling, Digging, Weeding, Watering, Cleaning up.Thinking.
Lingering is also quite lovely with a glass of Pinot Grigio! Each sip is its own joyful linger of grape, citrus and sugar.
Benches are perfect lingering devices!
I plan when I linger.
I am continually surprised if I let myself linger long enough. Imagine what I almost missed.
A burst of color today that wasn’t there yesterday. Taking notice of a senior citizen shedding its petals, one slow drop at a time, on its way of decay to become soil. Happy to have met you!
You can’t notice these things if you don’t linger.
Or escape that, I too, am a part of it all. This mysterious revolutionary movement of nature.
Lingering in the garden grounds me. I am shedding petals also — bone mass, collagen, elasticity, once thick brunette hair at a time is turning a fine, thin grey. I am shedding!
And it is all okay. I certainly won’t malinger over it!
On my way to becoming something else. I am contributing to it now.
It is part of the natural movement forward — a contribution I am able to make — and keep making still!
Peace through reflective lingering. The gift of, and in, gardening.
Sharpen the senses. Rest the mind. Linger. Drift past the flowers that grow so incredibly high!