Kew Gardens sent out free packets of wild flower seeds this Spring, hoping that gardeners around the United Kingdom would ‘Grow Wild’.
I was happy to receive a packet and sprinkled the seeds in a corner of Mrs O’s garden that had been taken over by brambles and ivy; the wrong sort of wilderness for a town garden.
Now that spot has some lovely wild flowers smiling up at me, but they would be smiling down at baby Abel, if he wandered in there. So in this picture I’ve tried to look at them from his point of view, though truth to tell he prefers to look at the little daisies and scarlet pimpernel that stud the grass at the top of the hill.
It’s all wonderful to him; it’s good to get down to his sort of height and to:
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they labour not, neither do they spin. But I say to you, that not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed as one of these. And if the grass of the field, which is to day, and to morrow is cast into the oven, God doth so clothe: how much more you, O ye of little faith?
And always we should consider how we grow, how little Abel grows. Half an hour considering the grass of the field, or the ducks on the pond, or pebbles on the beach: that really opens the eyes and the heart.