Warm weather has definitely returned to San Antonio. Working in the garden, I enjoy the bright sunshine, but work up a sweat. Our yard is xeriscaped, which means we do very little watering; most of the landscape is wearing a dreary, dusty coat of muted browns, thanks to the deep drought we're in.  The good news is that the early warmth has caused several of the perennials and shrubs in our yard to bud out and start to blossom, giving us a few splashes of pink and red here and there.  The bad news is that it's time to prune them all back.  That's why I'm out with my shears today:  to cut last year's stems and make room for this year's growth in the coming months. 
 
It seems a shame to whack off the few bright spots of color alive out here, yet that's precisely what must be done to insure a healthy future for these plants.  So I do it, trimming the long, leggy branches back almost to the ground.  Afterwards, I realize that not only did the act of pruning improve the garden, it has also helped me put some recent, personal losses in perspective.  I'd been bummed out because a co-worker had suddenly quit; I'd also re-injured my knee and had to suspend my beloved Tai Chi practice; plus both of our family's cars died last week, and will need to be replaced.  None of these was a major deal, but coming all together in the space of a few days, they had left me feeling hurt and confused.
 
I find that lopping off branches is a strangely soothing action, with the added benefit of providing a graphic reminder that growth is not a linear process.  Had I not pruned off those few scraggly salvia blossoms, they would have prevented dozens of flaming red stalks from taking their place in a month or two. Standing there, holding pruning shears in one hand, and wiping sweat from my eyes with the other, I feel comfort in remembering that spiritual growth is no different. However much it may hurt, sometimes a beloved thing must die in order for something new to take its place. The major difference is that when I trim away some Red Salvia, I can be pretty certain it will be replaced with lots more tiny red flowers; when I cut back an Esperanza, many yellow trumpet-shaped blossoms will appear.  But when I willingly release a person, place or circumstance from my life, there's no telling what Higher Good will result. 
 
I find myself smiling as I haul off the trimmings, ready for whatever comes next...