There are some who forsake the garden in the winter. They do not wish to see it mid-slumber, in its quiet state of hibernation. They prefer only to visit when its at its most beautiful, and I cannot begrudge them for that. Yet those people miss all the wonder that is the garden in winter, a time when stillness and serenity take the place of chattering waterfowl, and snowflakes take the place of flower blossoms.
Whenever I’m unsure of things, when I worry too much and wonder about what the future holds, I return here, no matter the time of the year or the day, and it calms the heart. On this morning I found peace again, and I found hope. It made me want to start again, to be better in whatever ways I could.
I’d forced Kira to get up earlier than she would have liked, but by the time we reached the garden she was coming around to the idea of its beauty, and as we wound our way through the cleared paths, she gave in to the contemplative Sunday morning and its surroundings.
After getting a number of photos, I brought us to the Lenox Hotel, where we looked up brunch spots as we warmed ourselves by their fireplace. It was the loveliest way of closing out our winter weekend. We made it through the winter storm. We made it through the wilderness. We made it through the beauty.
