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In my garden there are plants, there are trees and scrubs. There are flowers of near every color that accent the beautiful yet mundane hues of green grass and brown dirt. There is the constant buzz of honey bees bouncing from pedal to pedal in search of the nectar to share with the hive. An occasional visit by the hummingbird that by now, should know that I am there as a mere observer and wish him no harm.
From the entrance of my garden, it appears lifeless, as a portrait; an ever changing landscape painting. As I move quietly through the narrow maze of red mulch pathways, I feel the portrait begin to breathe, its eyes follow me as I move past, stopping occasionally to savor a fragrance.
Early morning brings new life to my garden. Mockingbirds scour the perimeter, waiting to dive in for breakfast. Sparrows dart in and out, bouncing from branch to branch, more interested in their game of hide and seek than where their next meal will reveal itself. Butterflies float about aimlessly with no apparent mission other than to parade their spectacular colors.
Late evening, on the other hand, holds a different pose. The flowers appear tired from holding themselves upright all day. The sun begins to fade away and so does their resolve to remain fully erect, stretched out in hopes of catching a glimpse of the orange ball as it rolls across the sky. Night crawlers resurrect and begin crawling around bravely, as their predators have bedded down and are no longer a threat for them.
In my garden, I am at home, housed amid an ultra concentration of God’s creation. For those brief moments when I am there alone, I can begin to image what God had intended for this world. I often wonder how this garden He has prepared for me compares with the original garden lost so long ago. Perhaps there is no comparison, but until it is restored, this one will do.
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