We are doing a lot of landscaping and hardscaping this year. We plan to make our own outdoor retreat with a terraced bank and a waterfall. So we had to take down a number of trees that were too close to the house and blocked the sunlight. In the front, is a giant, beautiful old pine tree that stands in the middle of a hollow. The hollow was overgrown and an incubator for poison ivy. We cleared that out as well so the pine would stand by itself. The hollow will be filled in and a low stone wall built around the pine. We’ll seed the area with grass and put pots of flowers on the wall. It will be beautiful. But right now, it is a desolation. Ground down tree stumps, sawdust, wood chips, broken branches; an ugly scar in the middle of beautiful woods.
Seeing this everyday makes me feel so meloncholy. There are so many hard things in my life right now, so many challenges, so much sadness. This destroyed place seemed to reflect my own heart. But what bothered me most of all was the thought of losing my Spring Heralds.
Years ago, my husband planted various bulbs around the property. The tulips were lost the first year when the deer had a feast but a few crocuses survived. Every year, they surprise us when the pop up overnight. It’s how we know the long, dark winter is finally over. The spot were they grow is the edge of the hollow. But that area is devastated, a trampled, torn up mess. Nothing could grow there.
The other day, I was walking the trash can down the driveway to the road and something caught my eye. There in the midst of that barren place was a burst of vivid purple. One lone, crocus had survived. I started to cry. I knelt and brushed some debris away from the blooms. I said a silent “Thank you.”
God is the Master of Metaphor.