What if I wrote what my heart wanted to write.  The whispers of the tulips, the hum of the honey bee.   Oh the green of spring.  There is no finer a color.  The color of new birth, fresh beginings and purity.  Leaves so tender, if you touch them with your nail they turn dark green like they are almost a state of matter between liquid and a solid.  The fragil leaves that are nursed around the clock.  Water,  light, beautiful dark earth.  All elements we falsly believe that we can control or take part in.  We only can be so lucky as to make up for our interupting it and allow it to continue as it was created to do.  What a blessing we have to be a part of nature at all.  To plant the seed where we choose, to love and feed the animals as they grow.  All gifts. To tend this garden, to feel the earth.  See it breath and live. Watch it move, streaming with life.  

This is the why.  Connected to the earth I feel connected to our creator.  Blessed to witness the intricate details of design.  The more I participate and interact with this creation the more I learn how interwoven all the elements are.  Everything created for a purpose, to do it’s part of the waltz.  The connection, partnership, and tapistry of creation draws me in.  How can I farm the way it was designed?  Using each detail and talent that the Lord has placed in my dominion.  The connections.  Weeds as much of a curse as they are, have a purpose.  Their roots carry the water and nutrition deep into the soil, helping it to heal from years of abuse and stripping.  When I harvest those weeds they feed my goats, who in turn provide nutrition for the soil and milk for my family.  The milk goes on to become yogurt and cheese, the whey is passed to the chickens and the pigs. Each with their own job to do.  

Learning my place in this amazing creation, understanding the world around me and the creator who spoke it into exsistance.  May I be blessed enough to never stop learning.  May the flowers never stop talking to me.  The sounds of the bees humming in my ears.  The sweet smell of tomato plants and rosemary when you brush up against them.  The feel of the black earth on my skin. The taste of honeysuckle when the wind blows.  What joy it all brings.  May I learn how to listen more intently.  Longing to lessen my impact and increase the nuturing of the design. Attempting to find my string of the tapistry.