Three years ago a young landscape artist convinced me that the camellia planted at my entryway was not really “my style” and that I should get rid of it. I was undecided at the time so did not allow him to remove it then and there. The flowers themselves were so gosh darn pretty though the shrub itself was not. I eventually accepted that the planting expert was probably right, so, little by little it got pruned (hacked) down to the ground with a rusty old pair of garden shears. Most of the roots of the well established camellia got dug out as well. Then the French baby tears at the base of it did their part and gradually grew over the place where it had been.
I didn’t hire a professional. No, I did it with my own two hands. Not proud of it because I never did replace it with some thing that was more my style. It’s funny how time has a way of changing things and sometimes bringing them back around. Things that were broken, things that were dead and gone. Even things that were destroyed whether intentionally or not may occasionally find a way to return.
Several years have gone by and to my astonishment the camellia has reemerged. Time changes things. “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven . . . A time to plant and a time to uproot . . . A time to kill and a time to heal.”
Today I picked the first blossom from the plant I destroyed.
Time and beauty. What a lovely pair they make.