We were gone for four days over the past weekend.
Even though I was reluctant to leave the friends and fun behind, I was happy to be home.
|And mushrooms were popping.|
I wandered, noting how much larger everything was -- things grow quickly at this time of year. A dozen asparagus spears begged to be picked. I noted that I'd be able to pick snap peas (FINALLY) the next day. A few strawberries were just a day or two from ripe. And, of course, the weeds were doing well, too.
Everything green (and other colors) and beautiful.
My heart filled with joy and love.
I was home.
In more ways than one.
How much is my garden a reflection of my hard work, and how much is it a reflection of my soul?