Walking

Next-door neighbor and I were walking our dogs together yesterday evening, and came across a grocery bag full of free irises, sitting at the corner of someone's lot. She took a few, I took a few. I figure several can grace the fenceline we share, and pretty up my side, which is bare (hers is much more cared for!). I also put two tiny little ones out at the vestigial old fence behind my house, which the neighbor landlord has let go pretty ... rustic ... through my tenure here. I've obliterated some portion of the rustiness with fast-growing, hardy, and obliging forsythia, which makes a lush screen. These little flowers can fill in the stump still sticking out at a loose end, and add a little more color.

What color these are, we have no idea, but who even cares? Free flowers. We offer our thanks, invisible neighbors!

(In any case, the next door neighbor will undoubtedly know them in no time. She's got a talent for that.)


Out in the sun, poking little holes in my indifferent yard, and thinking "where should I put these" I thought of my mom, my brother, my grandma. I didn't inherit grandma's affinity for the earth, but my mother and brother both love digging and planting. My brother would appreciate, too, the "recycling" nature of my neighbor's and my find, too. He has much respect for finding (re-)uses for things, and a remarkable talent for finding things to use. Scavenger and gardener; he gets a lot out of the earth.

Compared to others of my blood, I'm a watered-down dirt lover. But I do love the distinctive smells of real food, real earth. When it's dry, the way the dirt doesn't resist, but the roots of the grass do. When its' wet, the cool sight and smell of soil. The acrid promises of tomatoes. Even just lawn cuttings. I may not put myself very close to it, but I recognize and respect the fact that I have a little patch of land to tend to. Some of what it means.


I planted something today. It was given to me, one of the little concrete blessings life has to offer sometimes.

Here's hoping I've planted some other things, less tangible. There was one job at that Place I've been looking at every day, never seeing anything to apply for (until now ...). There still may be hope with that foundation job I saw over the holiday. There is the book, too. Something could be growing.

I just haven't seen the sprouts yet.

Will water again this evening, and will try to be good to these little gifts. Someday we'll see what color. In the meantime: really, they're flowers. Who cares what shade they are?