Promise Land

Spring brings with it the Promised Land.  This year I promise no weeds in the garden, no over scheduling, no tantrums when life doesn't work out as planned, no hanging on to old ideas, wishes, dreams. 

Every year as February draws to a close I plan a life of sweet acceptance of life as it is.

I'll row my little boat gently down the stream to Nirvana, I promise as I wake from my winter sleep.

Last year; and every year I can remember, I prepare for my winter sleep by running around anxiously trying to get the last of the garden chores done. Trying to put everything away in orderly fashion.

See the original Edouard Vuillard (1868-1940)

And every year, as I prepare for my winter sleep something goes undone--a hose undrained freezes, a spade or trowel rust at the edge of a bed, forgotten.  Grand plans left undone or worse begun and abandoned. Regret is my winter shadow.

Sometime in January, I let the past year go. I rest, refresh. In that deep mid-winter sleep of garden and conscience I find forgiveness. Instead of failure; I see lessons learned, new possibilities sighted.

It's from winter's shore I see the horizon of paradise--a promised land of abundance. Silent, beautiful, sprouting, blooming, passing color.

Could I find my way here without winter's rest? Without winter's ice and dark would spring's promised land seem like paradise, or just another tick in the tock of time?