
Milkweed pods crack open to release their seeds onto the wind.
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Our lives unfold to the cadence of waiting. We wait for the milestones of maturity; birthday candles, privileges, grades passed. We wait for friendship and love. Sometimes we wait for a soured relationship’s messy end.
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Garlic chives go to seed all too quickly.
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We tick off the long awaited steps of our lives at first with eagerness; later with longing. We wait for spring. We wait for summer’s heat to break.
We wait for the trees to bud and for the roses to finally bloom in May.
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We wait for storms to come and to pass; for children to grow independent; for dream vacations; for retirement.
Which is sweeter, the wait, or the fulfillment?
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Beautyberry ripens over a long season, to the delight of our many birds.
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“We never live;
we are always in the expectation of living.”
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Voltaire
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I await the much loved succession of our garden each year: emergence, growth, bud, bloom, fruits and seeds.
By September, many of the season’s flowers have already gone to seeds; others are still just coming into bloom.
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Obedient plant blooms with Rudbeckia hirta, black-eyed Susans.
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Hibiscus, Echinacea and Basil seeds bring a small cadre of bright goldfinches darting about the garden. They have waited long months for their delicious ripening.
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Hibiscus pods split open in autumn to offer their feast of seeds to hungry birds.
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And sometimes, after the longest of winter waits, those dropped and forgotten seeds fulfill their destiny, sprouting and growing into the fullness of maturity. Self-sown plants, appearing as if by magic, are a special gift of nature in our garden.
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Self-sown Basil going to seed again.
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No, I’m not speaking of the crabgrass or wild Oxalis sprouting in the paths and in the pots. I’m speaking of the small army of Basil plants which appeared, right where I wanted them, this spring. I’m speaking of the bright yellow Lantana growing now in the path, and the profusion of bright golden Rudbeckia in our front garden.
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A Black Swallowtail butterfly feeds on perennial Lantana.
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And, I’m speaking of the magnificent Aralia spinosa blooming for the first time this summer. It’s gigantic head of ripening purple berries reminds me of why we tolerate its thorny trunk.
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Aralia spinosa’s creamy flowers have faded, leaving bright berries in their wake.
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Gardeners soon learn the art of waiting. We wait for tiny rooted slips of life to grow into flowering plants, for bulbs to sprout, for seeds to germinate, for little spindly sticks to grow and finally bear fruit. We wait for the tomatoes to ripen and the pecans to fall.
We wait for hummingbirds to fly north each spring; for butterflies to find our nectar filled floral banquet.
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We wait year upon year for our soil to finally get ‘right.’ We wait for rains to come, and for the soggy earth to dry out enough to work in the spring.
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We are waiting for the Solidago, Goldenrod, to bloom any day now, drawing even more pollinators to the garden.
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And we wait for ourselves, sometimes, too. We wait for our fingers to grow green enough that we can tend our garden properly, coaxing beauty from the Earth.
So much to learn, so much to do, so much to love…..
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Woodland Gnome 2017
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“Patience is power.
Patience is not an absence of action;
rather it is “timing”
it waits on the right time to act,
for the right principles
and in the right way.”
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Fulton J. Sheen
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For the Daily Post’s
Weekly Photo Challenge: Waiting
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