Warm day, weeds taunt, garden beckons.
Funny what you find in a spring garden. Unrecognizable seedlings – could be volunteers, let them be. The odor of musty dirt under edging – unrelated memory of the off-limits head shop in the basement of the used-bookstore a million years ago.
Under an elderberry I even found some self-respect for handling the conflict of divorce that continues to plague my household. And here is some empty space – this year I will plant it full.
Working through a garden is working through a life. Unbidden memory, new ideas, few regrets. Though I garden for just this experience, I remain surprised by venues and vistas available simply by digging in the dirt – expansive travel, exceptionally low mileage. Finding what many travelers of a certain ilk find – that being far from home does not mean leaving it. Wish you were here.
Shouldn't...but Do 
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