As I watered the lawn, my eyes scoured the surface, looking at the spaces that were growing between the grass. I noted the morning glories climbing the fence, new weeds aided by the irrigation. A random tomato plant that grew from some of last year's seeds pushed it's way and though untended, it looked robust and determined.
I moved the sprinkler to the middle section of the back lawn and spied a new ant pile. Grabbing the ant powder, I sifted it over until it took on the appearance of a fresh snowfall.
Funny, it is strange how just spending some time encouraging our dry Hill Country ground to produce life allowed me to become intimate with details that otherwise would seem obscure or would go unnoticed with the blur of activity or as seen from the distance of the back porch.
Willing the flowers in the front beds to thrive, I watered and wished them well. The waxy shrubs seem to bear the burden of the relentless heat and don't need much tending to. I take them for granted, since they continue to blossom like a child with an ever sunny disposition. I love their verdant beauty.
A well manicured yard doesn't happen by accident. It takes time spent outdoors to upkeep, tidy, and nurture it along.
A skilled gardener is so much like God, so intent on each minute detail all while envisioning the completed masterpiece so that nothing is overlooked. No corner of my life is insignificant. Under His touch, all creation flourishes. I know this from experience.
Quietly I sit and listen to the sounds in the yard. I hear the neighbor's dog warn away a passing stranger and birds chirping in anticipation of warmer days ahead. A weekend biker roars by on a hill country jaunt.
It is comfortable just sitting quietly with someone who knows you well and up close, but who still loves and honors you.
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