Lesson from an incinerated garden: Soften your gaze
Last week, a fire-breathing dragon swooped into my backyard garden, wreaking havoc.
It scalded these Meyer Lemons, which were just about ripe.
It was a relentless, record-breaking heatwave that scorched everything in reach.
Healthy leaves curled in on themselves, and turned crispy brown. Rose petals got singed, and assumed grotesque shapes.
This week is all about digging up and pruning back, salvaging what I can and encouraging new growth. From here on, it’s a game of wait and see: a budding leaf, the subtle lift of a drooping plant. I’m optimistic, for the most part.
A rascally rabbit has joined my clean-up crew–comic relief! Butterflies drift through the yard, laying eggs that will eventually replace the caterpillars that didn’t make it.
The urge to reproduce is strong, isn’t it? The need to set things right. But dreams don’t often translate into reality overnight.
Lesson from an incinerated garden: Soften your gaze.
