I researched the Tree of Life. I gathered pictures and did a few sketches. Then something entirely different inspired my work. Pumpkins.
I felt satisfaction at the weariness that would echo in my body after hours of toil. I watered, weeded and waited. I became protector and nurturer of my garden. I let go of expectations, but I hoped. A little seed sprouted life.
Gently the vines explored the earth. Then, as three nights in one, those rich vines boldly bound, reaching like arms with fingers seeking, touching, finding.
I watched those pumpkins. I felt satisfaction in the quiet calm of working with the earth. I felt reverence for the delicate balance and my lack of control.
Today, my garden is nearly ready for harvest. The plants are not as full now, losing leaves, pouring every drop of energy into their fruit. Those plants know that their time and purpose is nearly passed. Those plants know that the will have life, they will live only by giving all that they’ve got to the sweet fruit. That fruit, rich with seeds will again begin the delicate cycle. That is joy, to loose oneself is to find one’s self.
I look at my hands, warn and familiar. My skin, once rich and full is weathered. My hands are a testament to the life I lived.. I too have let go and like the pumpkin plant, I get life by giving life.
