I move fast. My colleagues laugh, saying they can hear the "click, click, click" of my fast walk crossing the floor over their heads. I don't stop "doing" from the day's start to finish.
But something happens to me in the garden.
I slow down. Sometimes I just stand there, staring into space.
The first couple of times it happens I shake myself from my reverie and begin my task with fresh vigor. Fussing to myself about wasting time and my large list of garden chores.
Slowly, I begin to remember gardening isn't about accomplishing tasks as quickly as possible. Slowly, I remember I'm nurturing my soul as well as my soil. Slowly, I start to enjoy those moments of staring into nothingness.
I breathe deeply, I listen, I relax and sometimes I see things. Like this praying mantis I discovered in the nandina.
Or earlier this week when I saw filaments flying into the sunlight from the kitchen garden. It reminded me of the scene in Charlotte's Web when her children spun a thread of web and floated away in the wind. Sure enough, by continuing to "do nothing" for a little bit longer, I saw a miraculous sight: a spider floated over my head headed for a new location.
Thank goodness for doing nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment