Spent a fabulous and balanced week digging in the dirt. Reaping, tilling, sowing, transplanting and nurturing. We harvested some of our winter rye. Felt like being in a Van Gogh painting — two figures, one cutting and the other bundling. A gentle moment.
My eldest son and I fulfilled a yearly tradition, planting an inaugural row of sunflowers. Our space in the garden for them and other annual and perennial herbs and flowers seems tiny. We marvel each year that in our first growing season it contained our entire garden. Beware ye dirt scratchers! Opening ground is addictive and each year I find I need to till a little more of our door yard. If we run out of space here I have my eye on a few thousand acres of strip mall parking lots ready for the jackhammer.
My broccoli seedlings were starting to look like my youngest after a growth spurt, all legs; so I situated them in the great big world this week — I’m quite late this year, and with the warm temperatures, no telling. Maybe I’ll send the kids out to coddle them with cool drinks and fans.
I’m nursing our spring garden along. I’m using a garden plot that’s only in its second year and we have a long way to go with adding organic material to the demon clay. After the pounding rains of a few weeks ago it’s like working in cement. I’m in awe of the carrots, onions, lettuce, spinach, chard and peas that have courageously pushed through — such intense power in that tiny being we call a seed. And yes, I should have been patient and nicked and soaked the peas before sowing. Ain’t hindsight grand?
So here we are, on the brink of April. Life is in fast transition. Some entities are on their way out, while others rehearse their opening lines. A Goddess time — an end and a beginning. And believe me when I tell you, for I’ve seen them with my own eyes: the snakes are waking.
My bones are weary today, so forgive me the lack of reflection. I leave you instead in the good hands of e. e. cummings. Read or listen as you will. Be well. Be peaceful. Be.
I thank You God for most this amazing
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
what ever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them
men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right
they are not young
and may my self do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been
quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it connot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
**Poem credit: published by e. e. cummings in 1950 in a volume titled Xaipe. (That’s Greek for Rejoice!)
© Jennifer S. and harvestliberty.net, 2012.