And we've got to get ourselves, back to the garden....
At long last I am able to put weight upon The Ankle. I am not stepping out confidently for unlimited stretches of time, no, but I am able now to safely wander out and see, up close, first hand, what is going on outside my windows.
It is a bit of a mixed blessing.
There is beauty out there, no question. There are also clear signs of a bill come due after weeks of involuntary neglect.
Bermuda grass seed heads abound, nodding gracefully in the breeze, happily broadcasting the promise of hours of weeding in the seasons to come.
Morning glory vines have crept up and over as far as they could reach. They at least, are easily grabbed, wrapped about and wrenched out, although bringing along with them whatever they climbed up if care is not taken. But that is hardly the point.
There will be stronger days yet to come, cooler days as well, when the work of reordering can be rejoined. The real work possible now is to prevent the joy of being an active observer again from being extinguished in any way by the heavy blanket of a to-do list.
It is enough, for now, to simply enjoy what has thrived in these less tended to spaces. It is enough, for now, to watch birds and bees and ants and butterflies work the garden in their own way. When all is said and done, these spaces, the ones I call "my garden" do belong to them. They, the real gardeners here, enter and exit, harvest and work at will while I am in fact the visitor. To call these spaces "mine" is a conceit of time and I will do well to hold that idea foremost as I begin to make choices for my re-entry into the activity.