Letting Your Muse Play

For a week I knew Father's Day would be all mine, alone in the garden.  Anticipation was a drug.  Yesterday morning arrived, poof/voila, away he trotted and beloved time with Muse began.  The only concerns were possible snakes in the storage where I had to hunt/gather, and rain.
.
Ahead of pulling the plastic back, below.  Cell phone clipped to hip, thick garden shoes on, I said to myself, You could die doing this.
.
Hunting an old fireplace mantle, and a door to use as desk top, instead the first thing I found was a missing iron gate, below.  Tears erupted down my face.  Whoa.  Who knew it would mean so much, finding my missing gate.  Ridiculous yes, boo hoo, those tears, but they were hot and earnest.  Go figure, another learning moment about my relationship with my garden.



Carried the missing gate, below, to its partner that has been safely stowed the entire 2 years living here.



My previous garden, below.  Looking from sideyard, into backyard.



My previous garden, below, looking from backyard to sideyard.



Probably a year away from installing the gates in my new garden.  Their position already planned.  Other layers ahead of the gates.
.
Time with Muse yesterday a gift.  Creativity is not linear thinking.  Alone, there were zero questions/admonitions, 'What are you doing in the garden today? ', 'When will you be done?' , 'Why?', 'No, don't do that.' etc.   Muse does not respond to that type of thinking.  Muse takes organically, all given from the heart, and sprinkles pixie dust from other realms.
.
A twist on Rossetti's Blessed Damozel.  One lover on earth the other in heaven.  Muse, not bound solely to earth.
.
Those days of anticipation about gardening yesterday?  If I had known the depth of joys to arrive, it would have been similar to anticipating Christmas, age 5.
.
Garden & Be Well,  XO T
.