... I'm not the only gardener.

There I take the time to always walk ... I admire a leaf, a flower or a butterfly, a rainbow from a tear and a ray of light, the cemented alleys from and to me. And I know it is unique, unmistakable and constantly transforming.

There…

... I planted and planted others. Untold with rain of tears and shadows of regret, heated, lighted with love, those seeds gave birth. Some have revealed more beautiful, proud and high flowers, others weaving grass. I walk among them on the cement roads of some roads to me and me to the ones I loved ... Sometimes, leaning towards a memorial snare rippling under a blanket of forgetfulness, sometimes admiring a A flower of not forgetting a lost and past love. Rarely, the ground of a tried soul struggles, perhaps because I am afraid to rediscover long-lived feelings and feelings, deeply buried. Or maybe because you like it as it is now: fresh, wet, just good to plant other seeds

... people come to sell, steal or give away. I allowed some to penetrate, thinking that they would only come to look, to remember, to compare or to beautify. I did not think I could plant harmful weed seeds like fear, disappointment, suffering, or that I could root out with all my flowers of courage, confidence, and love. There have been many who are right, but few have been the ones with the chosen flowers, coming only to expose their own works and to share the beauty of their experiences. They are the ones who have given me the seeds of unprecedented flowers, trusting seedlings and rain of joy. And they left empty-handed ... for I did not understand then what they gave you.

... I'm not the only gardener. I'm sharing experience. Today I plant a seedlings of courage and a seed of friendship, then I expect to grow the same as those of the gardener who sold or gave them to me. From time to time, I show my soul flowers to an exhibition. I'm never careful to see who I show them. I sometimes try to protect them from those who come with weeds. No flower is ugly or bad, even weeds can be useful. I could not know how beautiful my soul garden was if I had nothing to compare it to. The weeds of others, the seeds that are scattered around here ... no longer afraid. If the garden of my soul likes it because ... other gardeners have contributed to it.

... losses leave earnings in the end. Yes, some steal love and courage, leave vain and fear, others think they have the right to walk over the green and thin yarns of grass or to rip with roots flowers of not forgetting, trusting, Of optimism, of kindness, to flee with them, placing them in a hidden pocket on his chest. From ignorance, helplessness or envy, from malice or the need to be the same. They do not struggle to create their own garden of soul, but try to steal, break, imitate, destroy what planted others. I compassionate those who do not know to love only through imitations. For the copies will never be as beautiful as the original. And I ... in the garden of my soul, I take the time to always walk ... I admire a leaf, a flower or a butterfly, a rainbow from a tear and a ray of light, the celestial alleys from and to me. And I know it is unique, unmistakable and constantly transforming.

Today, I want you to take the time to get into the garden of your souls. Let loved people admire, wet, plant and warm with love and understanding. For nothing can ennoble more a garden of soul than love!