When I first returned, it was dark. Not only because the sun had set but because nothing that I'd left alive in my home over a year ago had remained that way. My plants were all dead. The feeder that once nourished hundreds of songbirds had been removed and was indiscriminately thrown in a pile of discarded wood. The grass had not been cut and the flowering bushes were ensnarled with weeds and dead stalks. There were no more than a few sickly blooms on this once ardent flora. The rest had been choked out.
At that moment I thought, "this is no longer my home!" The joy had been smothered with heaviness and sadness.
But then, as I looked around, I changed my mind about leaving the dead and dying "as is". I was still responsible for the care of this place, after all. For as long as it remained mine, I still bore the responsibility to nurture it.
The next morning as the sun rose, I went outside and relieved the weeds of their lethal duties and cut down the dead stalks. I replaced the feeder and added a second - loading one with birdseed, the other with suet. I asked a neighbor if they would mow the ankle-high blades of grass.
And so this home - my home - as temporary as it may be, has been restored to a place of joy. I will not let death or darkness take over what does not belong. Not in my home. Not in my heart.
