The morning sun warms my garden.
I’ve scrubbed and cleaned the pebbly patio floor.
Hosed the stone walls down.
Washed and rearranged the furniture.
Plumped the pillows.
Wiped clean the garden pots erasing the dust of winter.
Cleaning, this care of objects, is good for the soul.
The garden look perfect – too perfect.
I remembered a story about the Japanese tea master, Sen no Rikyu.
He had asked his son to clean the path leading to the tea garden. The son carefully swept and scrubbed. Sen no Rikyu inspected the work. “Not complete” was his response. The son repeated the taste with even greater care. Again it was not accepted. He cleaned a third time certain that every speck of dust was washed away. Rikyu just shook his head. The son in desperation shouted, “Well, you show me how to do it, then!” The tea master walked to a small tree near the path and gave it a vigorous shake. A rain of leaves sprinkled the path. “Now the garden is perfect.”
With a respectful bow to the Japanese tea master, Sen no Rikyu, I gave my camellia tree a shake.
Now the garden is perfect.