The sweet smell of decaying leaves crawl up my nose and lodge in my sinus cavities.  Nothing is blooming yet, but the odor of foliage is all around me.  Leaves have become compost to nourish all that grows there.

I’m a little late cleaning out the perennial gardens this year, but I found the front ones weren’t as bad as they might have been.   New sprouts push their way towards the sun through the neglect. But some things are always the same, like the weeds popping up without benefit of moisture or fertilizer.  Still, pulling them from the earth releases a scent near and dear to my heart – the good earth.

Like Meg in my soon to be released novel “Secrets of Sandhill Island,” I find solace in my garden.  It sustains me.  My hands ache from clutching the rake, my back cramps from bending over too long, and I smile at the promise of flowers to come.  It’s worth the pain to see God’s hand at work and the miracle of flowers coming back year after year – even when they’re neglected by the gardener.

It’s been a tough week.  I had a dentist appointment for a crown and a dermatology visit turned into a biopsy and stitches.  Nothing earthshattering just a reminder that I’m not as young as I once was and time marches on.  There have been more needles in my face in the last week than the last ten years.  My body aches.

I think I’ll clean out the back gardens next.  The dog, my ever present companion, will help me. Who knows what we may find.