"We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon,
and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden."
I'm out in the rows of my garden, taking it all in. The water drop call of the brown headed cowbird brings my attention to the drops of dew sprinkled over the leaves. I notice that while some rows are impeccably tended
others are in deep need of some back work.
It's gruesome work, but someone has to do it.
After the slaughter, I bring my mind back to the world of the living and am reawakened by lovely flowers.
|Dew on the chamomile|
|Lavender ready to bloom|
|The first echinacea blossom|
|A fiery daylily|