The other day, I passed a crash in my neighborhood that was clogging traffic, as the photo above shows. Some guy in a company truck had run a red light and smashed into a school bus loaded with 37 kids. Several children went to the hospital. Luckily, none of them were seriously injured. A slew […]
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Recycling a Well-Tended Garden She side-bends and stoops after decades of puttering limber-up work-in-dirt yoga, knee bends to growing graces. Her garden sprawls on its back, open palms to June sun, humming a hover and rest like the blue darner. Her fingers spread compost, sifting the strumming of vegetable patches into mantras – mantras learned
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I peer out the sunroom window at the hydrangeas encroaching on the arborvitae, on the camelia — and just now in mid-November when the tight buds of the camelia are grasping at every bit of waning sun they can to bloom and the arborvitae is struggling to spread its branches; next month they’ll be the
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That’s not how it happened, and I have the picture to prove it. It’s just that the picture is in my mind.
There’s a sound that the early autumn wind makes through the cottonwoods across the way (all dash and whisper and sway) that is the sound of a faraway whistle caught on a thread of unraveling distance from an old coal train heading west; it is the sound of the last of the Canada geese hefting
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Yesterday, had I been a millionaire able to hire a gardener or two, I — I still would have knelt in the earth and brushed back the crunchy leaves, to see, touch, oh! green shoots of new garlic. Yes, pruned scratchy rose bushes sucked blood from my thorn-stabbed thumb; cut back the lower aspen branches, plucked
Millionaire’s Spring Delight Read More »