Thought for the Week: In our being

Rosemary Brown reflects on thankfulness and delight

It is February: wet, blustery, and bitterly cold. A time to gaze out at the garden from behind insulating glass doors, pitying the plants as they shiver in the wind.

But a day comes which is just a little brighter, and courage can be found to venture out, stoutly clad, and with thick gloves, to start the work. And how much there is to do! Drifts of fallen leaves are piled up on the unkempt grass, which is invading every border. There are weeds choking the early bulbs and shrubs straggling weakly out of shape.

From the back of the borders brambles have advanced and intertwined with tender plants, while beneath everything else the relentless ivy runners creep forward, spreading and binding.

One starts from choice on the surface. The leaves are raked up, the grass is trimmed back and the shrubs are pruned. Already the garden is looking much better. Yet we have hardly started.

It is time to get down on the ground and tackle the weeds. Some are tenacious but, faced with determination, they eventually loosen their grip. This is slow difficult work, and many hours of effort may result in little to show.

Even that is not the worst of it. To get at the ivy may require crawling under the shrubs, even lying face down to wrench out the most stubborn tendrils, which fight for every inch. One emerges from each encounter aching, scratched and stung by lurking nettles. But it has to be done.

There is no final victory in this work. However, as the days lighten and the earth warms, a time comes when one can move from the task of clearing what is unwanted, and contemplate a space, which has been prepared for fresh planting. And, in our garden or in our being, that is a time for infinite thankfulness and delight.

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