The Garden of Life


needlework by Barbara Mattio

Needlework by Barbara Mattio

 

I was just out in my garden. It is very warm and I was doing some deadheading, turning pots to the sun. I filled my lungs with the fragrance of the flowers and my eyes with their beautiful color. I could feel the energy emanating from the trees and was filled with contentment. The gardens of our lives are like this. They need attention and some work. We need to keep our lives fertilized and trimmed. We need to stop in the presence of the Divine and communicate as a child of the Universe. Negativity needs to be removed from our lives and we need to remember that thoughts have energy and try very hard not to add to the hatred and violence in the world. We need to laugh and enjoy the relationship we have with the Divine. So visit your garden or park and spend some time with God.

Trees

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the
earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
and lifts her leafy areas to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear a nest
of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
who lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
but only God can make a tree.
—Joyce Kilmer

 

Photography by Barbara Mattio

Photography by Barbara Mattio

The Sound of the Trees


By Robert Frost

” I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the windows or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.”

In remembrance of Buzurg Mir Hammon, who taught me to hug trees and to fall in love with the Beloved.

Photography by Barbara Mattio

Photography by Barbara Mattio