Winter Garden

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Tagging along with Tommy to the community garden today, I Β admired the strength of lifeΒ in the midst of winter.

Β I particularly enjoyed:

1. playing with ice blocks frozen around the hoop house, enchanted with how they distort and soften, how they reflect light.

2. the contrast between life still pushing through and the surrounding decomposition.

3. feeling gratitude for the harvest made possible by Tommy, and the meals we will cook with it this week.

What I noticed there made me think of this poem:

The Fog Town School of Thought

They should have taught us birds and trees

in school, they should have taught us beauty

and weaving bees and had a class

on listening and standing aloneβ€”

the children should have studied light

reflected from a spider web,

we should have learned the branches of streams

spread out like fingers or the veins

of a leafβ€”we should have learned the sky

is the tallest steeple, we should have known

a hill is a voice inside the skyβ€”

O, we should have had our school

on top and stayed until the night

for the fog to bloom in the hollows and rise

like cotton spinning off a wheelβ€”

we should have learned a dreamβ€”a child’s

and even still a man’sβ€”is made

from fog and love, my word, you’d think

with the book in front of us we should

have learned how Fog Town got its name.

β€” Maurice Manning

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Summer Flowers

You know life is wonderful when you wake up from a Saturday afternoon nap to a your sweet boyfriend setting a vase (okay, a travel mug) of fresh-picked flowers (that he also grew) on your nightstand. And then, when you wake up and wander to the kitchen for a snack, you find him unpacking sun-warmed veggies he harvested from the community garden, including okra, maybe because you told him that now you like okra. Lucky!