I loved the idea of a mandala from my first hearing. Tibetan Buddhist monks create “paintings” with colored sand, then sweep the sand together and pour it into flowing water.

This is a simplistic picture, of course. The spiritual connotations – the outer/inner/secret layers, the deities invoked, the alleged healing powers – are not mine to explain. But I was captivated by this embrace of the impermanence of existence. Later, becoming part of the Burning Man community taught me to better appreciate immediacy in all experiences, to enjoy without focusing on preserving.

So when Dow Gardens, a local 110-acre public garden, announced a garden mandala workshop I was all in and drafted my sister to join me. We’ll learn how, I said, and then we can make more at home.

The idea was simple: gather materials from the annual beds. Shape them into mandalas of flowers and leaves, on backdrops of grass or stone or ground. Take a photo and leave your work for visitors to enjoy for the few days it will last.

The execution was a bit more involved. First, there was the group’s excitement at being at a place where the etiquette includes “Please do not remove plant material,” being cautioned this was a SPECIAL EXCEPTION, and being handed a bag and a set of snips. Seriously? We got to cut things? Just the annuals, we were cautioned, because those are on their way out anyway. That still left a wide variety of colors, shapes and textures … like this, the hugest celosia I’ve ever seen:

More guidelines. Plan a circle, we were told, and break it into a pattern of quarters. (Not everyone followed this; one person made a heart.) Try to cut only what you think you will use. But most of all, enjoy the process. This should be relaxing and reflective.

It was, and it wasn’t. Being able to clip whatever I found most striking was a treat. I move slowly, though, and brought a walker to cover the half-mileish distance, so I took a lot of breaks and went for highlighting favorites, not abundance. My mandala would look less like a filled-in pizza and more like a dreamcatcher.

No matter. When it came to choosing a site, I found a hunk of driftwood to my liking as a backdrop. The gardens have many chipmunk residents, and I liked the idea of involving the natives in my project. Interactive art! While I was working, a squirrel passed behind, and I laughed because I had what looked like squirrel tails among my plants:

I admired the work of my neighbors, some of whom added butterfly wings and other items they had brought from home. One had a dried dragonfly as her centerpiece. Like us, they plan to continue this practice. My sister wants to make a mandala in winter with the dried bits in her yard. I’m thinking of making another one very soon, with the bright black-eyed Susans and showy goldenrod in my front yard, a bit of sunny reflection in the outlawn.

How has my first mandala fared? I have no idea. I took a photo and walked away. The rest is out of my hands and I feel peaceful about that.