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Writer's pictureHilda Van Netten

In Search of Raindrops

I've been following the UK poet, Becky Hemsley Let's allow her to influence us as we walk around the gardens looking for raindrops.


A reminder that your worth is not numerical.

It is not determined by numbers on a scale

or scores on a test.

It is not rooted in how many followers you have

or how much you earn.

Never forget that you count

in so many ways

that can't be counted.






With all of this rain, our "river" is full.


People will put you down if they are not strong enough to lift you up.

Just remember that

and keep rising.





I love this blue.


What if we are not stuck in the tunnel,

chasing the light at the end of it.

What if we've been the light all along?






Bloodroots aren't fond of opening up in the rain.


When someone feels broken,

shower them with solidarity.

Wash gentle words over them and watch those words nestle into their wounds.

Then pour kindness over the cracks and watch the seeds of something grow.

Something good.

Something great.

Something that feels a lot like love.





Kitty is pretty happy today.


Never underestimate the importance of being yourself.





This little primula's friends were driven over by various delivery trucks and other drivers who find our driveway too narrow. I am so glad this one survived!


Look at you just going about your everyday life.

Not even knowing how many people you are inspiring.





Bride & Groom is what my mother-in-law called these Pulmonaria.


The flowers do not run from the rain

for they know how much it helps them grow.

Perhaps we should be more like the flowers.





I spotted this little gem under the plum bushes. I had to crawl on my knees to get close enough to get a good shot of it. Wasn't it worth it? I didn't notice the huge water droplet until I viewed my pictures.


First we live inside the story.

Then the story lives inside us.





Some of the earlier grape hyacinths have started to open up. Today, I received a hand-written letter from a dear friend. My heart is full.


Don’t wait til I’m gone

And then stand up to speak

About all the things

That you loved about me

Don’t sing all my praises

Through all of your tears

When I am no longer

Beside you to hear

Don’t leave all that love

Like a secret unsaid

But tell me tomorrow

Or right now instead

And I’ll tell you too

Of the things I admire

About who you are

And how much you inspire

I’ll speak from my heart

Whilst you’re still here to know

“You are” not “you were”

Or “it used to be so”

I’ll speak of your light

Whilst you’ll still hear the words

And not leave that love

In the darkness, unheard

So tell me tomorrow

Or right now - don’t wait

Because we don’t know

When it might be too late

Because we don’t know

When our time might be up

And we need to hear - while we are here

That we’re loved





Be still, my heart.


It's so easy to throw things at others

without realizing how much they are already trying to hold


And the one thing we throw might be the final straw-

the one thing that brings everything else to the ground.


It is easy to be kind too.

And it is important.


Because we don't know what people carry.

We just don't know.





Some loads are beautiful.


A reminder

that you are the person that some one would run to

in a room full of people.





A glimpse of what is to come. The bleeding hearts are starting to look like themselves.


We watched her walk off into the woods and they said,

"But, won't she end up lost?"


And, I smiled because I knew those woods well.

"No", I said.

"Perhaps she'll end up found."




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