From the moment we are born, we are like the spring flowers lifting our heads towards the light, awakening to the new possibilities in the fragrant scent of the garden of life.  With each season our roots dig deeper, as days turn into years soaking up the rain and sun planting seeds of love and hope.

Each year is filled with that moment when rebirth occurs.  It is found in the lines on our faces, in the grace of others that spark a memory that allows us to grow, to change, to honor those that led us on our earthen path.

In my garden of life, I carry the cuttings of the roses passed on by my mother.  She was our gardener, our compass.  Our Dad filled his days with the pruning, the leftover compost that made sense of it all.

My husband found in me a woman who chased her dreams, loved her family, and found a wealth of warmth and undying devotion in his arms.  Together, we have put down roots, tilled the soil, planted the seeds, and battled the unwavering gust that knocks you down.  In the end we found the sunshine in our faces, the tears of joy in our eyes, and a great gathering of strength for whatever comes our way.

In the darkness of brewing storms, we dig deeper, longing for a small shaft of guiding light. Cold and weary and unkempt we are thrown into the depths of struggles that peel back the layers of our being.  I find the delight when I ride out the storm and feel the calm and stillness of that moment when I can be rooted deeper in a sense of self renewal.

I am in awe of friends and family who stand tall beside me.  They planted their seeds in my heart with nurturing words and deeds.  In the dead of winter or the sweetness of spring, they were the sun after the rain, the blossoms that brightened my day.

Barefoot, I tend to the garden of life.  Eyes closed, I breathe in the scent of the seasons past. Unafraid, I lift my head longing for that wild and perfect moment where the light finds me.  I rejoice in the fragrance of reawakening, free to let go of who I am and curious about who I am meant to be.