If you journey to the top of the hill, you’ll find a curtain of trees. Thick, dark leaves, yards appearing impenetrable. Stop there.
Be patient. When the wind sweeps the green aside, you’ll find a gate. Rap on it three times, the birds will let you in. They line up like, soldiers, to welcome you in chorus.
The garden may seem to be in a bit of disrepair. It may look like the one in the classic tale, The Secret Garden, but there’s no Mary and Colin to pretty it. If there’s a problem in the garden, you must do the work.
There’s a pathway. The past and present are standing with you; you wait, but it’s been said, “The future never comes.” A force will guide you, so don’t fear that you’re doing the work alone.
Don’t let rocks cause you to stumble. Don’t let weeds trip you. Don’t shake your head and give up. Tend to the garden.
Imagine: a hammock cradled under sturdy trees; a bench with printed cushions; bees drinking from half-open buds; birds playing hide and seek; fish playing tag in a pond; shy grass puckering up to kiss your bare soles; a shower of leaves tumbling on your crown. There’s a round table set for you and whomever you invite; a basket filled with fruit, cakes, smoked cheese, fresh bread. There’s a bottle of champagne to celebrate that you made it.
Enter; fix what’s in disrepair; take your time, there’s no rush; make the garden yours; rest; wear the blush of contentement. Continue to tend to the garden. It’s divine.
Much love to you.