In praise of... my weeds

I have long had a relaxed attitude to what we call weeds. The jaunty little violas which head this blog are weeds; a carpet of them, pushing their way through hard soil and loose shingle, to charm and cheer me when I was coping with bereavement. And two years ago, the beds and tiny lawn in my lockdown garden were transformed by daisies, dandelions and a host of flowers blooming where they were not supposed to. Over the years I have rejoiced in the sight of flowers peeping out of a drain, or stubbornly pushing their way through cracks in concrete, or the thinnest, sliveriest gaps between stones. They speak to me of resilience and resourcefulness, and of nature's untamable essence, as they defy the wishes of gardeners and planners. They also speak of God's often surprising bounty, and ability to disrupt our carefully laid plans, breaking through even the tiniest of gaps in whatever protective order we believe we have created.

And I also like to believe that anything which produces flowers is bound to be attractive to butterflies and bees, playing their part in a vital ecological service for the world beyond my little garden. And as you can see, this faith has been justified!

This bee was so engrossed in its gathering and nuzzling, and the intimacy of this moment, that I was able to watch it from only a few inches away. Whenever I observe such rapt bliss and beatitude I do feel a pang of envy. If only my own times of prayer, complete with flighty thoughts - at times as untamable as those subversive weeds - could see me equally contemplative and absorbed in God...

It is a grace I continue to pray for...