The Vision of A Creative Life
The Vision of a Creative Life
I am sitting outside on the deck on a warm spring morning. Coffee in hand, I try to find the birds calling to their mates from the trees. The trees are leafing now, it’s getting harder to spot them. My fenced and gated garden surrounds me, in its usual state of disorder. The deck under my feet has loose boards; yesterday’s shoes sit tossed by the door. A rusted wheelbarrow balanced on a crooked wheel thrones among scattered tools, piles of empty pots and stacked garden chairs. Yet all around me, vibrant life is springing. Forget-me-nots burst full of blue-ness everywhere. Larkspur pierce the ground with tender leaves, tulips stand tall drinking in the early morning dew, and the berry bushes are full with blooms. The cherry tree brightens the corner, and I can see we’ll have a good crop of pears. Contained by the greying, aging fence, the garden is a secret corner of possibility.
When I was young, I read novels set in southern France and rural England. A romantic at heart, I escaped to the comfort of the rustic cottages set in gardens overgrown with years of love. I imagined the peace and tranquility that would come from aging in such a well-worn place, full of the makings of a long and productive life in tune with nature. I imagined living in sync with the seasons, nurturing growth, enjoying the harvest, then retiring to a life of art, reading, and writing for the winter.
In a subconscious choice to make my dreams come true, I married a man who was always a farmer at heart. Born on a farm, he too explored other avenues; but true to his heart, he returns every spring to what feeds his spirit, feeding the earth.
Looking around me this morning, I witness the power of creative visualization. Beyond the pull exercised by my many different ventures, I have somehow made my own imaginings into my life. I even married a farmer.
I watch him walk among his prized tropical plants. He stops to inspect each one, gently touching their leaves, checking the soil for dampness, prodding them to thrive in the warm sunshine. The garlic is up, the beans are planted and the table holds a box full of seeds. Even the clematis vines are beginning to climb their trellises. My husband oversees his domain with pride and joy.
I don’t feel old. I am healthy and energetic. Yet, I can feel my vision broadening. My relationship with time is changing. I am more willing to adjust my rhythm to the pace of nature. This allows me to finally enjoy the creative life I have dreamed true.