Daily Garden Reflections

'Tis Nature's call, and every voice that lives shall welcome merry harvest, and bless the God that gives.

When you arise in the morning, think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive — to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.

The optimist sees the rose and not its thorns; the pessimist stares at the thorns, oblivious to the rose. The pessimist stares at the thorns.

The warm green of the grass, sprinkled with flowers of many hues, is a carpet whereon we walk with noiseless tread.

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; she shines on thieves on the garden wall, on streets and fields and harbour quays.

I own a solace shut within my heart, a garden full of many a quaint delight and warm with drowsy, poppied sunshine.

Gardening takes a plot of land, a hoe, and willing muscles. Scratching the soil, harvesting garden fruits, are peaceful results.

Green apples dancing in a wash of sun, a net of light that wavers as it weaves the sunlight on the chattering leaves.

Springtime, springtime, what is your essence? The lilt of a bulbul, the laugh of a rose, the dance of the dew on the wings of a moonbeam.

All dahlias are beautiful in their own way! I love them because they have the most perfect symmetry.

The butterflies, by eager hopes undone, glad as a child come out to greet the sun, beneath the shadows of a sunny shower.

The garden is where you take the time in your life to tune in and listen. It just takes being still long enough, opening your heart, opening your spirit.