21/07/2025
Mid July is when the garden finally begins to sing.
Once a week on Sabbath, I'm making a practice of arranging flowers solely for the purpose of my own joy. They live out their precious few days near the table where I gather with my beloveds in the kitchen with the cherry red doors. This house, this garden, these kids: they keep shouting at me about abundance, but my stupid phone keeps telling me otherwise, and my stupid brain keeps on believing it. So I'll keep cutting these flowers and putting them right here in front of me; signposts of goodness that ground me when I lose my way.