The fern and I

When the cold of winter hit, doing its damage to tender plants that weren’t covered or protected from the biting frost, I watched my broad leafed fern turn from a glorious green beauty in its big oak barrel to a crispy, brown shell of its former self.  I let guilt climb into my heart and thought of how I should have covered it or watered it more when the cold came or built a little shelter around it, but I didn’t.

This morning, as I sat quietly looking at the brown leaves, dead and lifeless, I saw several small fronds, still curled tightly, down in the center, waiting, waiting.  As the air warms and the sun gently touches the tips of the plant and warms the soil, they will begin to unfurl.  The roots are strong.  I know that by the time summer is here and the dampness has left the flagstones and warm breezes will sweep through our backyard, there will once again be broad, green arms waving in the soft currents.

I think of my journey down the Road to Ruby and beyond.  When the day is long and there seems to be a plethora of those who say no, or the negativity is heavy or I just can’t seem to find anyone who is open or my shoulders ache from writing blogs on assigned topics that make my head ache (the latest was to write about UFOs orbiting Saturn!) I feel like that fern.  And what I see, on the outside, are brown, withered leaves.  This morning, I could feel the new fronds inside, waiting to unfurl, and I remembered something Dan McCormick  once said about “coiling” – that inside, there is all sorts of magic happening, the mind and the thought processes and the subconscious messages are working.  They are the warm rays of sunshine, the gentle rains, the warming soil, that – ever so consistently – gently nurture those tightly wound fronds.  Soon, we will both stretch out our arms, green and soft and fresh and embrace the day and our harvest will be full.



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