in all truth.
i didn't want to get into the garden today.
life's had me stretched thread-bare.
and i didn't feel like tending anything.
but my thoughts drifted.
to little roots growing bound in sprouting containers.
and seedlings.
yellowing.
drooping.
out-growing their space.
and then i thought of salads.
fresh.
lush.
garden salads.
and salsa.
and steamed collards.
and the smell of fresh onion.
and out i went.
rolled sleeves.
and worn gloves.
to the sleeping garden.
and as things usually go.
once i was out there.
i was alive.
falling familiar.
into the groove of soil tilling.
and row plotting.
i settled all my seedlings.
and started fast.
on the dandelion harvest.
collecting just enough blooms.
to start infusing dandelion oil.
i found.
long fallen and forgotten.
an old knot.
from my uncles cherry tree.
and inspiration struck hard.
i saw that knot.
sanded smooth.
beeswaxed.
and laden with figs and cheeses.
a new woodworking project.
developing.
in the seconds.
as they passed.
and then the southern wind.
brought wafts of lilac bliss.
from the bush in the corner yard.
i ran.
barefoot.
to its branches.
and snipped an armful of blooms.
for the kitchen.
***
from my reluctance.
birthed forth.
and afternoon.
saturated.
with deep.
cleansing.
fresh air breaths.
and wild doses.
of percolating.
inspiration.
