How my garden grows

Not with care or carelessness

but with natural love and adoration

it grows under my feet

with songs of praise.

Not with heaps of fertilizer

but with patient expectation

it grows with curious seeds

and graceful happenstance.

It grows not by my hand, so much as by my wonder.

God in the garden, I know better than to dig up seeds and ask:

How, how is this done?

My art is born, rather than engineered.

I’m an artist and a gardener, working land and spirit, more like wallowing in It’s glory.

My garden grows because it loves me.

My garden grows because I love it back.