The Gardener's Delight

Delight is foremost in my mind, when I consider what it is for me to be a gardener. The gardener’s delight is a wondrous thing. What it is to notice with a swoop of joy the swallow darting overhead; to glance across to the busy bees thrumming, jostling, gorging on the nectar that has been planted for them; when I notice the cheeky cocked head of my robin friend and I cock mine back in response. I delight in these moments, these noticings.

When I notice the butterfly dancing in the open sun, then flittering in and up through the branches and secret spaces of the great sycamore, I want to follow, to explore that expanse with her. And I wonder who else shares that space, what birds chitter companionably from hidden branch to hidden branch, what secret sun decks hold baby squirrels, or handsome moths, pressed flat to matching bark. All this glorious life.

And it fills me with a sense of purpose. I water the pots, I tend to the beds, I greet each plant with gratitude; my garden companions, partners, co-workers. Together, plants and people making space, making places, niches, setting out great floral banquets for all this life to enjoy.

What a delight it is to be a gardener.