There are pumpkin plants in our garden.
Well, they began in our garden and are now sprawling up the back hedge, into the reserve, over the tree-palm and playing peekaboo in our neighbour's yard.
With untamed eagerness they creep and feel their way ahead
in a bid to overtake all available space - even if it wasn't empty.
And I wonder...
What would happen if I let hope do this in the garden of my life?
If instead of pruning it back with busyness
or squashing it's efforts with restlessness, discontent and disillusionment.
What if I let it grow?
If I marvelled at its stubborn insistence to reach into unexpected places?
If I allowed the tendrils of hope to wrap themselves around my expectations,
tangle themselves among my dreams
and burst into flower in my day to day mundane?
What would happen to my life then?
I wonder...
Perhaps I'd end up with my arms full of the stuff - round, bright pumpkins of hope.
Heavy.
Sweet.
Free.
And full of seeds to share with someone else in need of such an invasion.
© Penny Reeve. 2015
Well, they began in our garden and are now sprawling up the back hedge, into the reserve, over the tree-palm and playing peekaboo in our neighbour's yard.
With untamed eagerness they creep and feel their way ahead
in a bid to overtake all available space - even if it wasn't empty.
And I wonder...
What would happen if I let hope do this in the garden of my life?
If instead of pruning it back with busyness
or squashing it's efforts with restlessness, discontent and disillusionment.
What if I let it grow?
If I marvelled at its stubborn insistence to reach into unexpected places?
If I allowed the tendrils of hope to wrap themselves around my expectations,
tangle themselves among my dreams
and burst into flower in my day to day mundane?
What would happen to my life then?
I wonder...
Perhaps I'd end up with my arms full of the stuff - round, bright pumpkins of hope.
Heavy.
Sweet.
Free.
And full of seeds to share with someone else in need of such an invasion.
© Penny Reeve. 2015
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