My Yard is Me

Since moving into my house in 2013, I learned how much I love plants and working in the yard.

Something is off this year. I walk outside and my yard says "death".  It feels like this death is just making its rounds everywhere.  It began with my daisies. They died before they bloomed. Then the grass started drying up. Then my irises started dying. My strawberries are dying, my lilies are dying. It literally is a cloak of death blanketing my yard. You might think we aren't watering enough.  Actually I started watering more when death started knocking. That extra water brought death to my maple tree. 

I've now come to terms that walking outside these days feels like I've stepped into hell. The blazing heat and the look of death brings an overwhelming sadness. 

This morning I drove up to my house and I thought maybe my yard is an outward symbol of an internal problem.  Maybe my yard tells my story. It tells the story behind the closed door. If you asked me what being me feels like, I could say "I feel like my daisy, a bright, happy flower that is dying before I bloom".  My outside feel like my maple tree, my leaves are browning, curling up and falling off.  My yard is my life.