By Mobi Warren
There are still roses blooming outside our kitchen door—buds of black-red velvet and cups of coral. For years I have regretted I was not more sensitive to cultivated plants. Then some months ago I read an essay by a gardener-friend in which she counselled to let affection be one’s guide and teacher in learning to develop a relationship with plants. Somehow, affection was just the right word to get me to shift my perceptions.
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By Mobi Warren
There are still roses blooming outside our kitchen door—buds of black-red velvet and cups of coral. For years I have regretted I was not more sensitive to cultivated plants. Then some months ago I read an essay by a gardener-friend in which she counselled to let affection be one's guide and teacher in learning to develop a relationship with plants. Somehow, affection was just the right word to get me to shift my perceptions. When we moved into a new home last August (a Spanish-style home generous with space and trees), the roses rugged a bit at my heart. I began to prune old and diseased leaves, water the roots, and listen to the plants. I began to gather petals to sew into little packets of sachet, and to place buds in vases on our kitchen table. I take "rose breaks" in the midst of overcrowded days and am learning from the roses that it is the unbusied heart that can make friends with plants.
Mobi Warren Phillips, True Teacher, is a translator, storyteller, and educator in San Antonio, Texas.
