Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade. — Rudyard Kipling The last two weeks I can hear my garden whispering, “Come out, come out, it’s time…” The earth is starting to warm and I am famished to feel it between my fingers. All the fruit trees are full…
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Her people will return from exile far away and rest beneath my shadow. They will be a watered garden and blossom like grapes; they will be as fragrant as the wines of Lebanon. Hosea 14: 7 TLB I still remember the first poem I wrote as a returned prodigal. I was in the middle of…
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