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May Spring’s Joy Lighten Your Steps.

Plank! Plank! Plankkk! Plunkkk!

I still remembered how it was, the tension in my shoulders softening into pastel squiggles on holiday.

Again, I heard them, only more distinct. Plonk! Plonkk! Plink! My heart quickened. Down the wide steps, I flew, passing the Linnaeus house, skirting raised flowerbeds and withered grasses—still wintering, then pausing before the bronze sculpture of fish reflected in the pool. I was alone, my breath strewn about by winds with hiccoughs.



Plankkk! Plunk! Plink! They’re getting closer. Ahead of me, the weathered gazebo invited respite, but not that day. I’d come for the performance, and I was never disappointed.

Ahead of me, the granitoid walk turned the corner and I, with it.

To my right was the granddaddy of wind chimes. I stopped, then focused upon this towering array of handcrafted bronze chimes, each design unique. To reassure me of its presence, I gentled my fingers over a lower chime, hooded and cold, an ivy traced around its circumference, then struck the clapper hung from its chain: Plink! Plink! Vibrations strangely fired my inner core, then left me within soothing colors. Then, relaxed upon the bench, I let the winds compose and play the morning’s offering. The hoped-for communion always happened.



Thus prepared, I walked the perimeter of the Missouri Botanical Garden and felt its wiggle-room of life impinging my senses. There would be spring.

Frequent excursions into such vistas helped formulate my Creator God, nurturing me from season to season, as well. I’ve been wintering for some time…


Breezes gentle fluffy white seeds of cottonwoods looming above the creek bottom engorged by recent rains. Mounds feather the grassy sides of the trail and mask spent dandelions and trefoil clover.

Each seed, if properly banked and nurtured, has the potential to grow to a height of ninety feet and thrive for one hundred years. Cottonwoods only require a constant water source.

In silence I witness this proliferation of fragile beauty in my hand.

Such seeds resemble seminal graces flitting around us, seeking entry within our psyches to enlarge our perceptions of the natural world and to engage our participation in creation, ever fresh and surprising. We can’t help but be filled! We are close to the Source!




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