Still, under all the weeds, life remains. This sun is still giving its warmth and light. The rain falls and feeds. Bees with messages of sweet things hover. Ladybugs fight the good battle and carry hope on their armored backs.
It is me then who needs to toil under the sun. Pulling the weeds out with my hands and turning the soil. It is me who needs to dig down deep. To provide what is lacking. To harvest rich soil to grow in. To not just survive, but to begin to thrive again.
It is me who needs to keep a watchful eye. Dig out the roots of new weeds. Pull them when they're small, before they have room to spread and choke. It is me who needs to protect. Getting down on my knees and turning over leaves to be sure nothing is left hidden. I cannot see if I am only looking down.
It is me who needs to fill my bucket daily and bring water and life. Careful not to harm by overwatering -- giving too much when it is not needed -- drowning in love -- weakening instead of strengthening.
My heart needs to know that one day my garden will be beautiful again. Not today, as there is still much work to be done, and not tomorrow, as nature needs sweet time to heal that which is hurt -- but one day, down the way.
And on that day, when someday finally comes, and the toil is in the distance, I'll simply be walking down my path and I'll stop in admiration. On that day, when someday has come at last, what I see will make my soul proud, and like my garden, I will turn my face to the sun.