The Secret Garden

Here's a dirty little secret.
My flower garden mostly looks like this:

(Hopefully my blood relatives with greener thumbs won't faint on the spot.
I have been taught better gardening principles.)

I had high aspirations for this flower garden of mine.
On the night back in June when I planted
marigolds and zinnias and impatiens and salvia
I dreamed of full, healthy foliage and bright, happy blooms.

Then real life hit,
and the heat came,
and I didn't water enough
or weed very frequently.
And the flowers
did
not
thrive.

And I was sad.

Every time I looked out my front window,
I saw the droopy flowers
and the ugly weeds
and the stagnant dirt.
The grass beyond the planter looked pathetic, too.
(It still does, much to the chagrin of the neighbor we pay to aerate it.)
I told myself, "Tomorrow will be the day I rescue the flowers."
I kept saying that for a lot of days.

Then came Labor Day.
The boys had earned some chores,
so I had them tackle the flower bed.
Once the weeds were (mostly) gone, I did the rest.
Out came the wilted peonies, the bushy lilacs,
the super-sad bleeding hearts.
I raked the dirt.
I dead-headed the flowers.
I fertilized the plants.
I gave the whole garden a great big drink.

Summer is pretty much over; we're moving into Fall now.
There's not much time left for my little flower patch.
But I'm trying to see the good and appreciate the bright spots in my garden.
Maybe next year will be the year for a blue-ribbon display.

For now, I'll quote a wise lady, who once said,
"Life is good. The zinnias are blooming."

Because it is. And they are.