When the Garden Grows Old With Us

There was an eerie quiet in the shade garden this morning, not the peaceful kind we’ve come to love with the sound of leaves rustling overhead. Instead, the breeze moved through, but there was no answer. No whisper. No movement. And that’s when it settled in. It is already April 15th, and our beautiful shade tree is still sparse. There are signs of life. On the right side, small leaves are beginning to appear. Toward the center, a bit more promise. But the left side remains bare, still waiting. And it’s hard not to feel the weight of that. This tree is not just part of the garden it is the garden. It shades our summers, holds our quiet moments, and anchors this space. Now, it is showing its age, it struggles, quietly, unevenly. A little slower. A little thinner. Trying to tell us something. The garden reminds us about aging. What once came easily takes more time, and what once filled in fully may return more slowly, more quietly. So I said a small prayer beneath its branches to please stay with us, come back in your time, fill in where you can. And so we wait, with hope, with gratitude.  Because some of the most beautiful things, as they age, simply need a little more time.