I stood back to admire the garden I'd spent years building. It was tall and green and filled with flowers.
Bright yellow sunflowers towering overhead. Happy.
I leaned forward onto the tips of my toes to smell the big yellow blossoms, anticipating their fragrance.
Reached up to touch a petal between forefinger and thumb. Rubbed gently, only to feel the fabric of faux-ness touch my skin.
In the middle of the garden, a hole. Visible only to the few invited in.
While building the garden I'd fall into the hole, feeling liked I'd tripped, each time wondering if I'd hit the bottom. Each time climbing out as quickly as I could, pretending it never happened. Lifting my head high to admire the flowers.
Until the time I crashed all the way down.
Hit so hard I couldn't even ask myself if it was bottom. So hard. So hurt. Creeping was the only way out. Slowly, slowly I made my way out of that hole to the flat land. Light.
And then I saw them...
Wildflowers of all different colours. True beauty skimming the garden floor. Natural. Quiet. Easy. There.
And so it began. The slow journey of removing all I had built to make way for that which blossoms naturally. The grace that is always there.