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Winter has blanketed us in snow and as it has I batten down the hatches and retreat into the warmth of a cup of coffee.  Spread around me are my dog-eared seed catalogs, each page whispering promises of spring.  In winter, I dream of gardens.

In the back of my mind, in any given winter moment, I can feel August ~ summer in my Grandma's garden.  She and I go sit in the garden as the sun goes down, we talk softly almost drowned out by the cicada song.  The moon flowers wake from their sleep, and bloom all around us.  Magically, large white petals unfold - dinner plates appear in the air all around us.  Here, in this summer place I take a deep breath and enjoy the love.  Grandma is dying, small-cell lung cancer and we both know, this is our last summer together in the garden.  It is a summer jewel, I will keep with me for the rest of my life.



Later in the fall, I come to gather the porcupine seed pods from the moon flower plants, to make my own magic in 2011.  It is hard for Grandma now to come out into the garden.  She is tired and very soon she will be house bound.  On this day, I take her out so she can see her grave-site, make sure all looks right.  The sky is bright blue and the air is warm.  This is our last day together out in the fresh air.  I have my arm around her, to keep her steady but her heart bolsters my own.  She is my strength and my inspiration.

Now, I find myself sitting in the last days of January.  Grandma is buried now in the site we visited.  I miss her everyday, but even in sadness, we have our dreams.   Hope calls us forward into each day.  Small smiles sit in the corners of our childrens' voices and delight nestles in the warmth of sun melting the snow.  Life goes on, even as we collect jewels of sadness, they sit along side and accentuate our jewels of joy.  I am not very graceful as I move through life, but I continue to move forward, trying to create a better day for myself and for the life that teems around me.

And in my mind's eye, I see seeds and sprouts, flowers and fruit.  From the brown, quiet earth a cacophony of green will rejoice.  And in the late summer, I will walk down into my garden and the moon flowers will bloom and everything will be as it should.
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