I spent hours mulching the front garden. (One gets bagged mulch in Manhattan since there is no place to store shredded wood chips in bulk.) I moved the bags to the flower beds and, carefully, applied mulch around the base of plants. Some of them were showing signs of dormancy; others were fighting to stay active as long as possible. The moist, slightly fermenting smell of chips quickly filled the air.
As I worked around the yard, I also cleared away end-of-the-cycle annuals and fatigue perennials that were no longer productive. In their places, I put down a few new bulbs—just the standard daffodils and tulips. I fed flowering plants for the last time before next year. Fellow gardeners on neighboring property were also busy preparing for upcoming seasons. We took a break exchanging greetings and discussing our plans for next year.
Every autumn, when I pile mulch up around the shrubs and trees, I do so with faith. I trust that blanketed under a few extra inches of protection, in the darkness, roots dormant comfortably. In their dreams, they quietly accumulate strength. So, when the east wind kisses the earth again, they will reach out for new territory like children rushing to the playgrounds.
Every autumn, when I cover the newly planted bulbs with soil, I do so with hope. I hope that, with good appetite, they feast on the food that I offered. I hope that the darkness does not frighten them. I hope that they are ready to put on colorful garments when snow melts.
And, the worms—my little friends who I rarely see. . . I pray that, with mulch and new soil, I have brought them a little more wiggle room. I know that their gentle massages bring comforts to my plants, letting them know that they are not alone in the darkness.
I ask myself if I tend to my life with same kind of care. Do I do so with the same kind of faith and hope? When uncertainty comes, am I strong enough to survive the darkness and the icy surroundings? Thankfully, I never stop finding inspiring things that enrich my soul. Thankfully, there are always people who care for me, who push me forward with exuberant cries of “coraggio.” I trust that there are always brighter days ahead.
