Arboretum Walkway, Early December

Frequent visitors to my journal will remember the many, many photos of Penn State's Arboretum that I have posted over the summer months: of the lily pond and the fancy bugs and the flowers.

How I've loved my visits there! In the height of summer, I visited the Arboretum several times a week, often for just a few minutes before my work day began. Every visit to the colorful, sunny gardens reminded me - as a wise man once said - that heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.

As I looked back through my journal to write this post, I only now realized that the most recent half-dozen pictures I took at the Arboretum were all of sunflowers!

Tuesday 2 October 2012: Sunflower Party!

Friday 14 September 2012: Fairy Riding a Sunflower :-)

Tuesday 11 September 2012: Sunflower Butterfly

Thursday 6 September 2012: Sunrise Serenade

Tuesday 4 September 2012: Sunflowers!

Wednesday 29 August 2012: Sunflower

Yes, I was a girl sunflower-obsessed! They were such friendly faces, so full of joy, strangely beautiful and uplifting, like a field of charming aliens that were always smiling!

Then I visited the Arboretum on November 9, only to find - oh, tragedy of tragedies! - the field of sunflowers had been cut, and all that remained in that spot was an empty wheelbarrow. I almost cried. And I resolved not to go back to the Arboretum till springtime, when I might find something there to bring me smiles again.

But of course I couldn't wait that long. The Arboretum drew me back. So on Wednesday afternoon, I parked nearby and walked through, on my way to a meeting on campus.

The clouds were doing amazing things in the sky: dark, then light; more dark. I took a quick pass through the gardens. It was as though they were slumbering.

My father assured me in the depths of winter not too many years ago: "Doll Baby, the roses are not dead; they're only sleeping; they'll be back again one day." The promise of the spring that follows each winter: how we set our hearts upon it!

I remembered his words as I visited the sleeping gardens. I stopped along the walkway to take a few photos. A tiny bird flew from under the walkway, perched on one of the golden grasses nearby, lifted up its voice, sang a sweet song of hope, and flew away.

I carry this song with me; I carry it in my heart.