Daily Garden Reflections

There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air softer, and the morning more fragrant.

Anyone who thinks that gardening begins in the spring and ends in the fall is missing best part of the whole year.

Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.

Nature has undoubtedly mastered the art of winter gardening and even the most experienced gardener can learn from it.

I enjoy painting, cutting the lawn and working in the garden when I have time. That's therapy for me. I enjoy working with my hands.

I dreamed that you were a bee that one day gaily flew along, you came across the hedge to me and sang a soft, love-burdened song.

I'll tell you how the sun rose — a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, the news like squirrels ran.

God of gardens, dear small god of gardens, grant me faint glow of sunlight, a last bird hopping in the quiet haze.

Life is a stream on which we strew petal by petal the flower of our heart; the end is lost in dream, they float past our view.

A garden should make you feel you've entered privileged space — a place not just set apart but reverberant.

I linger as I pass the mignonette, and what surprise could clearer be than this: to find my sweet rose waiting with a kiss!

It was not enough of a garden, her father said, to plough; so she had to work it all by hand, but she don't mind now.