The Illusion of Control

The garden is generous with metaphors for living. Bone tired, stooped beyond straightening, encrusted in dirt and decorated with prickly seeds, I’ve harvested more truths in the garden than I could ever have known were ripe for the picking.

Each truth, in its time, and stunningly clear. When I was depressed, my garden urged me to wonder about what next spring would bring, gently coaxing me on, convincing me the seasons ahead would bring good things. When I was bored, it filled me with wonder. When I thought I had nothing to give, I saw all the plants that needed dividing and, therefore, sharing. The spirits of the garden are generous, indeed.

At Any Time

We’re inundated right now with musings about 9/11 and memories of what we were doing on that morning. It is all good and appropriate. Indeed, anything that can remind us to stop and think, to consider our place on this earth, is good. Nothing has done that quite like 9/11. Remembering that day seems to mean something different to each of us, while at the same time something profoundly similar.