Bulbs - the Garden of Life

I saw my garden today and noticed my bulbs poking through. Winter is that time of year when the air cools, shadows fall long, and brightness hides behind clouds. The happenings of my life, too, seem to drift into the past. But today, as the bulbs show their new start, I am drawn to my Summerset—my sunny room—to pen thoughts of reflection.

So much is hidden in life’s mystery, but every now and then, there’s a stir of treasure beneath the surface—reappearing to help the experience of living gain meaning. How long is a life season? That remains unknown. So I pause in mindful contemplation of the happenings along my trail.

These bulbs, which I had forgotten, now push through the soil with anticipation of a show to the world. They awaken me to the truth that many happenings in my life—a mixture of pleasant and sad—lie hidden but not gone. Like these bulbs, moments, hours, and days have been incubated, hibernated, covered over, yet still alive, waiting to poke through. No calling, no seeking—they’re just there in my garden, planted years ago.

Anticipation rises in me. I see what these bulbs were before, and now envision their coming bloom. So it is when dark and happy instances in my garden of life show again—calling me to revisit. Not with fear, but with wisdom and maturity, I deal with memory, emotion, and enjoy their stories: my new being, who I am today.

There is much I can do. Plant new flowers, new shrubs, new bulbs. I don’t need to root out the old. I can condition my soil and plant new seeds to grow. As I think on this, I realise that some happenings in life were not of my own making—but they’re part of my garden. So, like a gardener, I shape, prune, and, when needed, remove. Yet there remains a trace—of feelings, of memory, of the need to forgive others and myself. I can regather and settle what disturbs.

In my garden, I see vegetation we call weeds. Yet they’re still plants—with identity, shape, colour, growth. Some creep along, some grow tall. In the garden of life, too, what may seem like weeds to me can bring beauty and balance to someone else. That’s the richness of life’s experience: happenings don’t have to control the whole. With care, planning, and diligence, their impact can be softened—not erased, but transformed.

With life, there is no stagnation. Each breath is an opportunity to rebuild in a way that heals. The Soul is like a well that can be repaired, refilled with living, fresh, life-giving water. So too with the garden of life—repairs can be made, reshaping done. And I can call upon help, engage with active purpose, and shape a desired outcome.

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone can see.” — Confucius

“The LORD will work out his plans for my life—for your faithful love, O LORD, endures forever. Don’t abandon me, for you made me.” — Psalm 138:8

Inspiration for this prose poem came when I noticed my spring bulbs had begun to poke through – Friday 25 July ’25 – Sat in my ‘Summerset’ and wrote it direct onto iPad. (Assistance with grammatical flow and formatting i.e. computer software)