The books open on my writing table lead me into quiet inner gardens beyond the keyhole through which we all enviously peer, wanting to be allowed past the wall, through the gate with its rusted latch, hard to open, resisting even the most urgent push.
I need to sit, settle, feel the orderly words around me like familiar blooming plants and chuckling birds, soothing and sooth-saying.
Connection with gardens, even small ones, even potted plants, can become windows to the inner life. The simple act of stopping and looking at the beauty around us can be prayer.
—Patricia R. Barrett, The Sacred Garden, 2001
image: Christie B. Cochrell, On My Desk