Winter Garden: You are Nature.

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Photo: Jess Wood
Photo: Jess Wood

I dreamt orange, red and yellow poppies were sprouting from my legs.

I used a small hand mower to shave the wild flowers and they regrew.

You are nature, I was told.

In my winter garden, I see the plants resting as I breathe the mistiness of the frosty dew. I feel the wet moss underfoot. I feel the icy ground water seep into my aching soul as I tap into a dormant leaf of my crimson heart; we share the same veins.

I see myself as a garden transforming through the seasons.

The colors are muted shades of raw honey, weather-worn as a piece of driftwood and somehow itching to be reborn.

My garden has stories, like we all do. I remember who gave me what plant or which ones were rescued from the half-price bin. I take home the neglected plants and tend to them like they are an extension of me.

The bedraggled, brownish and limp-leaf ones are often the strongest and most radiant, given some love.

A lot like people.

Give them time and they will bloom.

I can get rather melancholy this time of year. It’s a reflective and introspective time, too.

I am looking through the gray and the bleak to find a pocket of love and light.

The other day the tenacious flutter of a hummingbird parted my pensive mood. He seemed to relay a message in his persistent attempts to sip nectar from a faded honeysuckle blossom.

What seems impossible and fraught with obstacles is a well-worn path to the bounty of sweet nectar.

There’s uneasiness in this personal transformation. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling this way.

I’m in limbo.

I am swirling in a layered stream of decay and dust, much like my compost pile. I’m fermenting to create that rich, sweet humus, a spiritual layer to cultivate my roots.

My garden is tired and so am I. I need this long winter to refuel. As the seasons change, pruning and tending will be added to my meditation.

For now, I sip hot ginger tea, laced with honey and lemon, while cocooned in a nest of soft blankets. I’m giving myself permission to rest while I listen to my heart for the sounds of spring.

It’s the sound of love, a big love filled with continuous rebirths, as I meditate through this wintery refuge.



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About Carolyn Riker

Carolyn is an educator, counselor, writer and a poet who finds comfort and balance in nature and music. Introspective, forthright, kind and compassionate, she intertwines life with being real. She also writes for Journey of the Heart and Rebelle Society. Carolyn can be reached at Facebook.


7 Responses to “Winter Garden: You are Nature.”

  1. jim fry says:

    From compost(ed) bitz, germinate incredible life & blossoms.

  2. Carolyn Riker says:

    Nature speaks to me in ways that heal.

  3. Lisa Woodford says:

    Beautifully expressed….looking forward to spring and rebirth….

  4. […] Winter can be a time of great introspection for us as well. […]

  5. Carolyn Riker says:

    Thank you Lisa…I'm looking forward to spring too.

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