It came as a surprise.  These things always seem to probably because I tend to sit more in blissful ignorance of how things actually work than in bliss that they do work.  My excuse for stalling on the gardening this year is that Spring actually came in April, unscheduled. It showed up early and like a guest with little social intelligence, proceeded to upend my regularly scheduled rituals of transiting into the season.  

I am a creature of habit; and once that habit is established, I will defend  to the death its right to unfold methodically.  In my little hobgoblin brain, our salvation lies only in the ability to track ourselves with precision and deliberation.  

The garden, apparently, has other ideas.  In the faux Spring, it began to send out buds, riotous greenery filled the yard and five gardens.  Shoots stuck their little green tongues out at me when I lectured them on their excessive exuberance, which I explained, would lead to an early down Fall!  I am quite sure I even heard them booing as I lowered the winter covers over them each time the temperature plummeted from heat wave levels to chilling frost.

The garden, as I said, has a different capacity to adapt to dramatic shifts in weather than I.  It seemed to ignore the drama, the strum und drang that I foisted on it each time the winds changed.  

It’s quite the practice this opening joyously, exuberantly, with wild abandon to whatever is in this moment.  With faith in one’s capacity to fold into change rather than dependence on a set of “if-then” beliefs, the surprise of joy becomes inexcusable.  It cannot be ignored, explained away, put in its place until the lawn is mowed.  It becomes unnecessary to wait for that moment when the Earth slides across some imaginary line that separates Spring from Spring Now.

Are you waiting for that moment when you can give yourself permission to begin planting seeds that nourish you?  What are you waiting for?