...or was that hope? Whatever. Same difference, right? The important part is the springing.
Gardening is an act of patience, of hope, of love. The love is proven by the patience and the hope; if one did not love, what would one care about the future or the passage of time? Yes, this is a gift of attachment, passionate attachment to the earth and enough attachment to your own life and all the people in it -- even if they're just walking by your front yard and glancing in, even if they're just birds and squirrels popping through for a nest twig here and a quick nosh there -- to dig shallow and deep and drop into darkness seeds of some life to come that you may never even get to see.
When you do get to see it, it's like a kiss on your heart, a deep and fluttering kiss right on the deepest, oldest part of you.
This kind of kiss can bring you to your knees, if only to look closer into the eyes of love.
This kiss can make you sing.
This post is me trying to pass that kiss along, no sooner getting it than trying to move it outward, ever outward, to smear it all over other people, as many as possible, so they can feel it, too.
Love makes you do stuff like that sometimes. (Click below to enlarge.)
Happy Love Thursday, everyone. If I've done my job you can feel this kiss, first of its kind this season, and taste with me how sweet it is.