orange blossom.


there is so much i feel lately about growing things. how it fills a space inside me that needs tangible evidence of seasons, new life in the form of sweet fruit, roots and branches that reach in opposition, the balance and harmony i crave.

the man who brought my many tons of smelly mulch had a long long white beard and a plaid wool shirt like my grandpa used to wear. he said there is power in the earth. that when my hands are in the dirt, i'm responsible for bringing new life, that i am powerful and connected to the life source. he said the mulch is magic. that it keeps the moisture and heat that plants need. he said that this is the love that life is about. he said we need to teach the children and eat our own vegetables.

years ago, i would have thought this man was crazy, bringing people loads of horse crap for free and preaching the gospel of dirt. now... i'm too convinced of the mystery of what lives beneath the surface, too knowledgable about how little i really know.

what i can say is that i feel my spirit agree. all the chopping of preperation for an easter meal. apple and mushroom smooth, crunchy under the knife. the stirring, the smells. mushing banana with the fork, slicing cabbage and onion. happy tears.

yesterday the load after load of wheelbarrows back and forth. my backache. bribing myself to finish before the sun set. the sounds of shovel against cement. sweat. work. repetition. the smell grows sweet under my nose. like menthol. like lemonade on a hot day.

i'll take this magic. breathe it in deeply.