-I’m a five year old. I wake up and peek out the curtains to the back bank – then I tiptoe to the front door and peer into the front garden. I put on my wellies and grab the coffee press and distribute yesterday’s grounds onto the grateful garden and wonder what will sprout or bloom tomorrow. Yes, gardening is my version of a meditation practice in patience. It’s my lesson about hard slow steady work. So naturally I’m in my studio – ready to get enough done for the day.
Here’s a poem:
And one more: On sunday mornings the small white church down the hill rings its simple church bell – it sounds similar to the old RR crossing bells – the birds sing with it –