I’m continuing my journey of finding inspiration in my garden.
Like many of my garden discoveries since moving in last year, this weathervane was completely covered by jasmine vines. One day, something caught my attention as I walked by. I stopped and focused my eyes on a piece of black iron.
I fetched the garden shears and returned. Then, I trimmed back the jasmine and discovered this pig weathervane.
It seemed out of place. It was put in a remote area of the yard, shielded from the wind for which it was made. It’s supposed to move with the changing flows of air and reveal that which we cannot see. And, it’s a pig. It didn’t fit with the other more mythical decor items I had discovered. I tried to remove it from the ground and take it to another area of the yard where I was intentionally cultivating a Southern kitschy look (I miss home.). But it wouldn’t budge.
It’s still there: A whimsical comma between the reverent spaces of the meditation garden and the pet memorial garden. In both these spaces, I connect with memories of people (and pets) I love and remember. Some are far away. Some are gone. One is slowly exiting the physical realm, sleeping at the threshold of the spirit.
I’ve decided the windless weathervane belongs just where it is, in the realm of the invisible, the area of the yard devoted to that which we can not touch, but we can feel.
Sometimes, the material world feels like it is the only one. Make space for the spiritual realm of connection.