Every spring when I plant those small lumpy rock-like seeds; I see Mom's doorway blooming full of blue blooms in my minds eye. Now it is September and finally I have a few blooms. I wonder how she got them to bloom earlier? Perhaps they reseeded themselves and in the southern exposure they sprang to life in April with the crocus. Who knows!
Or is this only a trick of memory gone rogue giving me a false hope?
At any rate, this blue is real and amazing. I try to memorize the fragile color pointing my camera this way and that to catch it just right against the white trellis or the blue sky above.
I stand stock still by the orange cosmos and wait for the bees to settle again to try to get close-up pictures of their delicate grasping forelegs and furriness. The flowers dance at every level on long, seemingly invisible stems over my head and almost at my feet. You simply cannot capture the intricate beauty of them with a camera.
Suddenly summer and the rush of work is over. I actually have time and peace to wander along the full rows of zinnia. There's time to gather seeds and cut bouquets. There's no hurry, I can stay another half hour and watch bees and pull weeds, or not, as I wish. This is the time for which I planted the garden last spring. Now it's here, am I going to live in these moments, fully, as I ought?
Where did I gather the notion that every moment not spent in service or sharing with others is not worthwhile? Why am I driven to be doing something "productive"? Who says just standing and watching bees is wasted time? Why not gaze at the exotic, brilliant colors of zinnia? Why not worship the Creator a little longer today in the garden? What better place to Be Still?