May I do the Mother’s Day blog instead? I am pulling literary teeth here.  Can I write anything that will compare to the suffering of the blue hydrangeas languishing in plastic pots on my patio? Their heavy heads loll. Their roots scrabble about the drain holes searching for a nest of moist soil. What lyric would best describe the song of new lettuce ready to be picked?

I am itching to paint the twin rockers whose peeling arms grab my attention each time I pass, watering can in hand, headed for the basil and mint. I’ve a table full of treasures all sorted and ready to display on the tiny gilded shelves unearthed from the detritus of my storage shed.

I have missives to pen, new peas to snap, and pictures to un-frame. My linens have exploded from their shelves and wait in bleached and anxious stacks.  These projects and more seethe in the spaces where winter’s dust once slumbered.

Why would I write in spring? The world awaits me.

I must live a little now to write again when the leaves have fallen and the pool has donned its winter cover. Now, the leaves are bright and flipping their smiles at me. The cerulean water sparkles and giggles at my angst.

That’s it. I’m going outside to wipe down my harvest table after last night’s rain. I am seasoning its texture for family dinners in the lingering twilight of summer. I have my cardinal to check up on. He has not left my Garden of Eden and, I suspect, will not go for any reason. I’ve put a copper roofed house for the bluebirds just inside of the forest and it must be nailed up as well.

The hammock rocks as if crooking its finger at me. It’s covered with a pristine quilt and pillow and ready for a nap in the breezy dappled afternoon tree light.

There are lemon cookies cooling on a rack and a pitcher of iced tea sweating on the counter. This day has seduced me with the aromas, colors, whispers and rustlings of creation and dreams. I am lost.

I will get back to you a little later about writing, its obligations and constraints. Today I belong only to myself, my garden, and May.  -Teresa Burgher

10 Responses

  1. Beth Browne
    May 5, 2013 at 9:02 pm

    Marvelous! Love this! Just got back from *sailing* and I feel much the same. Thanks for a great post!

  2. LoryKC
    May 5, 2013 at 10:42 pm

    LOVE. ENJOY!!!

  3. Linda Cookingham
    May 6, 2013 at 2:44 pm

    Really enjoyed this. So very true.

  4. Barb Magera
    Barb Magera
    May 7, 2013 at 11:49 pm

    Sound yummie! Where should I show up??

  5. marge carrithers
    marge carrithers
    May 8, 2013 at 7:27 am

    Your words leave a peaceful vision in my mind, lovely.

  6. Lori Robinett
    May 8, 2013 at 11:21 am

    This is absolutely beautiful. Love the line about the flowers languishing in plastic pots with heavy heads. Bravo!

  7. Patty McKay
    Patty McKay
    May 8, 2013 at 11:57 am

    Pookie, beautiful writing. You have so much talent. Love you!

  8. Teresa Burgher
    Teresa Burgher
    May 8, 2013 at 4:47 pm

    You are all so good to share your time and thoughts. Now you know how it feels to be me, in Tennessee, on a day in May.

  9. Nushka
    May 9, 2013 at 10:41 pm

    The world you see, create, and share is positively enchanting.

  10. JB Bonds
    May 11, 2013 at 7:52 am

    Beautiful! It made me feel so relaxed and peaceful. Thank you.

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