|New Hampshire ~ January 2011
i want to be the sight
for your sore eyes
i want to be the ahh
at the end of your sighs
i want to be the sweet
in your sorrow
the today in your
Actually, right now instead of writing, I want to be out in the garden poking around and planting stuff. The sun beating down on my neck. Hands in that dark, musky earth. Ahh that would be heaven. But I’m in New Hampshire, under roughly a foot of snow, in January, and I’m really not much of a gardener at all. In fact, I’m dismal… just ask my neighbors.
My lawn is my friendship barometer. If it’s looking good I’ll get the occasional wave from the driveway and a maybe a “Hello” or three. If it’s starting to look shabby, the shunning starts and then I know it’s time to mend hedges.
I have to get better about keeping things “curb appealing” around here. I need to get the joy.
My friend Lynn, she’s got the joy. Her garden looks like Eden, and a more joyful person I have never met. Well, there was another woman who used to live in my neighborhood who comes close. I think she was a relative of the lady who rents the house down the street. She was an older woman, grandmotherly. In the morning I’d see her on my way to work practicing tai chi on the front lawn and when I’d come home I’d see her elbows deep in the garden.
She was always smiling. I wonder where she went? I never knew her, but I miss her. I miss the wild tangles of honeysuckle and raspberry bushes of my youth. I miss Spring.
Where do you find joy?
Rene ~ January 2011