Just a few days after moving in things went a bit sideways at work and just like that I was back to working full time.
Life is a never ending juggling act.
I used to think I just needed to be more choosy about which balls I kept in the air, but life doesn’t work that way. I keep picking out the pretty ones, the exciting ones, the ones that make my heart sing but instead clunky, awkward, responsibility laden orbs continue to get tossed into the mix.
And maybe that’s okay.
Without silence we wouldn’t know music. Without grief we wouldn’t recognize joy. Without a day off work and a truckload of soil (hopefully) rolling its way to our front lawn as I type, I wouldn’t feel nearly so giddy.
Or something like that.
I am having my morning coffee, watching fiddlehead ferns unfurling below the living room window (planted there by a previous gardener), thrilling to a little brown bird dipping its beak into the birdbath I placed by the deck last night, all the while listening for the low rumble of a truck with seven yards of garden soil pulling into our cul de sac.
After more than a three year hiatus from gardening, this time around I am taking none of it for granted.
Now bring on the soil!