"In a garden the soul finds its needed escape from life and its entry into a space where eternity is more evident than time and where the ritual arrangement of life is more important than the business of surviving and making progress. Time stands still or at least moves more slowly in the garden..."--Thomas Moore, The Re-Enchantment of Everyday Life
The
daily business of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on sometimes blinds
the eyes and the soul to the very things that replenish and restore
them.
Last night after I turned off the computer, the last image that imprinted itself in my mind was a picture I took two years ago. It was a view from a car park in downtown Baguio of a bougainvillea bush that had run wild and climbed upwards, using a leafless tree, its trunk and its branches as a trellis and garbing them with lively clumps of dark pink flowers.
That day, stark in my memory, was my grandchild's first birthday. It fell on a Holy Wednesday. Only now have I thought of that glorious vine as heralds of Easter, of a summer spent keeping in step with a child just learning to toddle. Many times I paused to shoot photos of blooms by the wayside that became subjects for this blog.
The momentary stillness granted me this Monday I need to fully grasp before resuming the routine that assures where the next piece of bread, the next slice of butter, the next bowl of rice and serving of fish will come from.
God grant us in this new week more servings of both ordinary and more-than-ordinary pleasures.
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| Photo by Babeth Lolarga |
Last night after I turned off the computer, the last image that imprinted itself in my mind was a picture I took two years ago. It was a view from a car park in downtown Baguio of a bougainvillea bush that had run wild and climbed upwards, using a leafless tree, its trunk and its branches as a trellis and garbing them with lively clumps of dark pink flowers.
That day, stark in my memory, was my grandchild's first birthday. It fell on a Holy Wednesday. Only now have I thought of that glorious vine as heralds of Easter, of a summer spent keeping in step with a child just learning to toddle. Many times I paused to shoot photos of blooms by the wayside that became subjects for this blog.
The momentary stillness granted me this Monday I need to fully grasp before resuming the routine that assures where the next piece of bread, the next slice of butter, the next bowl of rice and serving of fish will come from.
God grant us in this new week more servings of both ordinary and more-than-ordinary pleasures.
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