In mid-May I breathed prayer into each marigold before securing its tangled hairs into the loose dirt mixed with potting soil in the raised beds spanning the front of my bungalow. Once watered and mulched, their reds, golds, yellows, and oranges heartened me. Then came June’s rains savaging all growing things. With other gardeners, I watched and waited.

More storms in July slowly gave way to the sun’s warmth, enlivening the root systems of the marigolds, now showing small buds. Weeks passed. No longer did the plants resemble those in the two flats I had bought at Ace Hardware. Riotous colors, resembling a carnival in motion, spoke of wholeness, vitality, and fun.

August saw prodigious growth in the marigolds. The branches of what had been stand-alone plants merged into each other and formed a tapestry of sorts. Then came daily deadheading spent blossoms, affording still more growth.

September’s coolness, however, introduced a lavender cast upon some plants while splaying others, giving them a spent look. Yet I still clipped off dozens of shriveled blossoms and tossed them into the bag I was carrying.

Tending my garden each summer morning has silenced me; its greening energy was boundless. I had only to participate in this network of vital connections. Indeed, my May prayer for the marigolds far exceeded my vision.

Such is the image for the Unseen nudging us into the fullest life imaginable!

 

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