A Still Life…A Life Still

The enormous canna leaves must be taken down – a whole bed of them wrinkled and brown where their bright orange lily faces used to shout.  I cut quickly, vigorously, clearing to the bare mulched earth. Piles of elephantine leaves are hauled into the pick-up truck, which is hauled to the dump.   Back on my knees, snipping away, I see a surprise:  right under the torched canna remains, daffodils sending up their leggy green hope.  I consider how little I do – nothing really – to make thing grow.  All my energy in the garden is spent clearing away what is tired, pulling out the last season spent, editing.  With just a little tenderness, life will grow it’s own next idea from roots in the dark earth.  Even in the final clearing job, which is called dying, I sense there is something underfoot, emerging.  I see it shining in my father’s face.

We never do create the new, of course, but are wise to be vigilant in making room for it.  Only clear, prune, pull, lop, sheer, haul, compost – let it go – what has already gone from it’s living.  Take it back to the ground, raw and clean.  Empty yourself of everything not growing, go naked to the ground.  This is my new prayer.

And lo, the daffodils, from that bleak winter ground, rise and praise.

                                                                                                               – susan

~ by Stephanie on 12/17/2009.

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